OOC:  Before the adventure starts proper, while you're still knocking your character sheets together, you guys can meet and greet here at the Redhaven Adventurers' Guildhall.  Some of you might have known each other before, others might be here looking to form up a party and go in search of some trouble.  And there are some likely-looking prospects sitting about the place...

It's a late spring storm out there, full of as much wind as rain, driving everywhere it should and places it shouldn't to boot.  Above all, on a day like today it's far better to be inside in front of a crackling fire.

The Redhaven Guildhall does do very well in that respect.  The reddish stone from which the town takes it name have been piled up to make a fireplace big enough to roast an ox, though there's none in evidence today.  Instead there's a hint of spice on the air from the cauldron of spiced cider someone has brewing over the coals.

The place looks like many other Guildhalls, which is to say, eclectic.  Adventurers find all sorts of strange things in their travels, and if they don't feel like lugging it around anymore, and it's not worth their time to sell it, it usually ends up at a guildhall.  Not a single chair or table matches, and ranges in style from squat, sturdy dwarven chairs with slabs in inlaid stone to carved silver-and-wood elven chairs to the elaborate Kalabas Kingdom chairs in redwood (from an old human empire two centuries gone). Thoroughly mismatched but bizarre candlesticks light the tables (you can see one made from choker hands, another made of metal in the shape of an angel praying, and a carved stone oil lamp in the orc style just from where you're sitting).

Taxidermied heads of dangerous beasts line the walls, from an ankheg's insectile mandibles to a rust monster's round cranium, along with a motley assortment of tapestries, banners, and damaged armor and weapons with attached notes like, "Dragon bite, nearly lost the arm," and "whole flight of orc arrows - may Sebastian rest in peace."

One wall is dedicated to the heart of any Guildhall - the notice boards.  One half of the board is notices for different jobs:
"Goblins sighted outside of town of Boltharrow in old ruins, need investigated by fearless adventurers."
"Town well infested by irate chuul, will pay for head!  Apply at Deepwater."
"Strange disappearances in mine at Garthal, possibly of magical nature.  Need to search for missing."

The other half of the board is for those seeking other adventurers.
"Eager wizard ready to slay his first grik!  Fire spells, fearless in the face of danger.  Dellas Nump at Redhaven Guildhall."
"In need of a good trapmaster for clearing out kobold warren.  One-fifth share loot.  Apply GoldSun adventuring party."
"Three good swords needed to win back fair maiden, must be at least Blackwardens,  Bevel Nadira."

The Guildmaster of this hall is a dwarf, his hair and prodigious beard the color of iron, who's missing the last three fingers on his right hand.  He looks over the room with a faint air of satisfaction, and brings out an enormous old battleaxe and begins to oil the edge.  Along the top of the counter at the back, a gray cat gets up and stretches before padding over to the rug next to the fire.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:52, Tue 11 Aug 2015.

At a round plank table against the wall, not far from the fire - the closest having been claimed by large groups or senior guild members - an elf sits, and with a pile of arrows dumped onto the table in front of him, which in turn are in front of a plate of bread and cheese, a battered pewter goblet and chipped stoneware pitcher.

Above him on the wall is one of the mounted heads, this one of some great horned beast, scowling at its fate with a face half-concealed behind a heavy, rain-soaked cloak hung to dry from one of the horns.  The Elf himself wears dry clothes, and his open collar shirt and loose cotton pants are far too light to serve for traveling on a day such as today, and speak more of comfort over durability. In one hand sits a whetstone, and he alternates between taking a bit of the bread and cheese from the plate before him or sipping from the goblet, examining the barbs of the arrows for defects, and testing the edge, and slowly, meticulously whetting one edge or another, or simply watching the low bustle and thrum of the room itself. His eyes, if not his head, turn whenever someone moves to the message board, at least the "position wanted" half.

On that board is one message in particular, bearing today's date, and written in elaborate scrollwork letters -

redbadge Elven Archer seeks position
longbow, keen eyed, sharp eared, willing to travel
Redhaven Guild hall

The elf tosses a crumb of cheese near the cat, whose eyes immediately catch the motion as it tumbles by, and pounces on it, stopping it with one lightning jab of a fat paw. WIth a sniff he judges it to be good, and with a gobble proves it so, and then eagerly looks up and around on a quick neck to see if a next might be forthcoming.

The storm outside buffets the windows with a particularly vicious slap of rain and wind, the elf glances outside through the rain-blurred glass then back to the arrow in his hand, and the cat pretends he didn't want any more cheese and sits to clean a paw - but doesn't move from where the last crumb fell.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:20, Tue 03 June 2014.

A man with a grey cloak pulled up over his head against the wind and rain rushes through the door and slams it behind him! He stops just inside the door and shakes the water from his hands, pulls the cloak off, then wipes his brow on his sleeve. It doesn't do much, because the water drips heavily from his sleeve too. He shakes his head like an old dog as his eyes adjust to the dark room, then heads for the fire to warm himself and dry a bit, absently throwing it over a chair by a fellow sharpening his arrows, and dropping his pack next to it.

He turns to and fro for about five minutes, soaking in the warming heat of the fire both front and rear as his clothes dry to merely wet instead of dripping. He then goes to the message board and reads to the last, goes and orders a beer, and sits in the chair after throwing his cloak over the next chair to dry.

"The damp penetrates to the bones master elf, I am called Farian, who might you be?"

When the cloak is thrown over the empty chair, the elf merely turns his eyes for a moment to take in the newcomer. When that same plops down and introduces himself, an amused smile crosses the elf's lips - he gestures to the seat (after the fact) with a nod of invitation, and moves the table's contents over a bit to allow a more even distribution of the available tabletop.

"Averdante - well come from the storm, Farian." His eyes stray over the clothing of the newcomer - "Are you a senior guild member here? I myself am currently seeking a quest, but can only claim a redbadge."

"Noooo,...I'm just a redbadge too. You the Averdante that posted to the board today? I'm currently seeking a position as well. Time to go out in the world and make one's mark so to speak. I'm a priest."

The door opens up once again, admitting an Elf and wolf this time.   The woodsman, judging by his dress, removes his cloak and just as he begins to dry himself, the wolf shakes itself, drenching the poor Elf again.

"Thunder! You flea bitten..." he starts but quickly blushs at his volume.

Gathering his wet gear, he moves towards the fire, looking for an empty space to dry off and rest. He turned to the wolf and said softly, "Now behave yourself, Thunder.  We are new here.

Farian turns to regard the newcomer and his 'pet' with discerning eyes. He turns back to Averdante, "friend of yours?"

Averdante eyes the newcome pair a little more closely than he had the previous entry, if only because they are a bit less commonplace.

"Not enemies..."

He hails the elf standing by the fire in their mother tongue...

<elvish> "Hail, cousin. Care to join us?"

He gestures to the empty seats, and once again shifts the pile of arrows, while glancing at Farian with a shadow of a shrug. He continues in the common...

"We are both but new to the Guild, and newly met each the other, and seeking a quest. And yourself - er, ", looking down to include the wolf, "yourselves?"

"I am Farian Raymellie," he introduces himself. He then stretches his hand to the wolf with a warm smile, "pleased to meet you Thunder."

"And I am Narthian Goldleaf.  A honor to meet both of you. He takes the offered seat with a sigh and places his pack behind him. "You don't have to worry.  Thunder will behave himself, I'm sure, says the Elf with a smile.  As if on cue, the wolf sniffs at the offered hand and then moves to lay down beside his master.

"I am a Druid of the Wood to the northwest.  As my father would say,Looking to find a place for himself "

Farian nods to Narthian, "this is Averdante," indicating the archer sharpening his arrows.

If the patrons of the guildhall are mussed by the entrance of the newcomer, he doesn't pay mind of it. He is a very large man with a wine barrel of a chest. This can be seen by all as his torso is completely bare. Sheets of rainwater fall off him as he turns and rests the door back into its frame.

He is dressed in short pants and high buckled boots, with a pair of long swords sheathed on his left hip and a large curved blade on the opposite. A large pack rests on one shoulder; strapped to it hangs a large cloak with something obviously wrapped within.

"Dwarf...,” his voice booms low through the space like distant war drums as he calls towards the Guildmaster, “...where can I find a dry linen and a flagon of dark ale?”

The giant rests his eyes on the hall and its many occupants. After spying an empty seat at a table near the fire, he approaches. He looms over the table and nods at the empty chair.

“Care if I sit?” He offers to the guests below him, still dripping from the torrent outside. His glance falls to the wolf lying at its master's feet. He can smell the wet fur from where he stands.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:49, Wed 04 June 2014.

"You must be completely new around here, or insane, otherwise you would be more courteous and respectful to the Guildmaster in his own hall. That particular Dwarf, I've no doubt, could probably slay you before you knew what was happening."

The large man swiveled his cannonball sized head and leveled his brow at the one speaking to him. He took his beard in his huge paw and wrung it like a used rag. The remaining water trapped in the unkept facial hair squeezed from between his tight fist, dripping down his bare forearm and off his elbow. He took the conversation to mean that the seat was not taken at the moment.

"There is not harm or curse in asking a fellow warrior for a point in the right direction." He spoke as he removed his large pack and set it next to the fire to dry. His tone was still booming although it carried from his lips with a gentle grin. He shuffled under the cloak and produced a pale cloth tunic, and used it thusly to wipe dry his massive chest, shoulders and thews.

"What are you called little master?" The man asked as he took his seat. Even seated next to these folk, he still remained a full head above them. "I should like to know the name of the man who warns of speaking out of turn while doing so himself." His grin grew to a near savage chuckle. His stained teeth now showing behind his lips.

"Now about that ale then fellas..." He lets out a guttural grunt as he clears his throat, "...Perhaps one of you might tell me of a place to find it. It'd be an honor to buy a round for the table."

"You speak to the Guildmaster as if he were your servant, and then say I speak out of turn for warning you? I? It is you who spoke thus, then insinuated yourself on us, and you say I spoke out of turn?" he says with incredulity. "Oh dear gentlemen, I believe he is insane." Farian shakes his head from side to side making a tssking noise. "Then, to throw salt in the wound, you further insult me with the little master remark! Sirrah why do you attempt to provoke me?"

Farian then stands, puffing out his chest. "I am Farian Raymellie, priest of Pelor, the Sun Father. You are a lucky man that I am of even temper, or this would have already been reduced to violence. Please give me your name and tell me why you treat me thus? Why do you provoke me?" he says in a calm, low voice that is even and non-threatening.

The elf listens to the one, then the other, and back again. He reaches for the pitcher on the table and pours some of the contents - a clear liquid, with perhaps a very slightly greenish hint, into the goblet as the cleric finishes speaking.

Before the newcomer can respond, he jumps in, speaking first to the cleric...

"Perhaps there is cause for offense, bit that does not mean it was intended, nor that any need be taken. There are customs from one land that outsiders do not know. That is not a crime if the intent was honest and respectful, even tho' in a neighbor the same act might be invitation for a fight."

He then turns to the newcomer...

"And similarly for you - not every land nor every people will share your view of "harm".  The dwarf you summarily barked at is not a greeter nor common innkeep to be treated so, but the local Guildmaster - if you are a member of the Guild, you should know he should be treated with more respect than you showed him, for he is not "your" fellow warrior, nor anyone else's, unless he so chooses.  If half the stories are true, hard experience, that few here can claim, has earned him that respect.

"As for an ale..."

He signals a barmaid, holds up 1 finger, and points to the dripping, half-naked hulk at their table.

"... it should be here shortly, if you can endure that long without finding a fight - intentionally or no."

He smiles as if telling a joke as he says this last, and toasts his own goblet to the two men at his table, one and then the other, before taking another sip.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:55, Wed 04 June 2014.

The doors of the guilds open slowly and a man wearing a green hooded robe with red runes embroided on it and holding a quarterstaff in his right hand, enters the guild hall. The brown and grey long-eared owl leaves  his shoulder and fly to a high hanging beam above the fire.

The hooded man approaches the guildmaster: "My name is Haazheel Thorn, traveling wizard at your service, may your beard never fade," he says with a bow. "On my way to your guild, we have been surprised by the storm. May I ask you for a place to rest tonight and how to obtain some food and hot beverages for me and my friend?" He shows on these last words his red badge to the guildmaster.

Both are discussing a little moment. The guildmaster points the board to Hazheel who then gives another bow in the direction of the guildmaster and walks to the board to look a the different messages and jobs advertised. Two of them caught his attention and on his way to the counter to ask for a hot tea and some food, he keeps murmuring "willing to travel... willing to travel... old ruins..."

On his way back, trying to find a place to sit not too far from the fire (he is freezing in his soaked green robe), Haazheel notices a table where a couple of humans and an elf are having an animated discussion. He immediately notices the arrows on the table and with a smile interrupts the verbal exchange "May I?" he asks pointing a chair with his quarterstaff.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:46, Wed 04 June 2014.

"You may sir. Please join us," he says as he indicates to the man to be seated. "We were discussing manners and insanity, but I see you were looking at the board, did you see anything that piqued your interest?" Farian then sits back down in his chair. "I am Farian Raymellie by the way, the others may introduce themselves." Farian then signals the waitress, "may I please get a hot mulled cider to take the chill from my bones?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:09, Wed 04 June 2014.

There's a small intake of breath from a few others in the Guildhall - a couple of halflings (one young man in bright leathers, an older woman in the padded gambeson that shows she just took off armor), a neatly turned-out half-orc tightening the skin on a drum, and a gnome in a vast abundance of furs.  The dwarf doesn't even look in Volsh's direction, merely flicks his hand down below the counter.  A second later a throwing axe goes flying across the intervening space, ruffling Volsh's hair with its passing, to stick in the mounted head of a gorgon just behind him.

After Volsh sits down, a blonde-haired human woman of middle age, wearing a loose blouse and bright skirt, with a leather belt slung about her ample waist containing a round dozen daggers, carrying a laden tray, comes out from behind the counter.  She bears a rust-colored Guild badge on her shoulder - rust being the color of one retired.

"Master Steelhead is mightly put out with you," she says without preamble.  "So if you be wanting food or drink, it'll cost you a silver before he'll even allow you a crust.  And an apology before you get more than that.  He says he knows a barbarian when he smells one, and knows you shouldn't be insulting an Elder like that unless you're willing to challenge him."

She turns back to the others, depositing a pitcher of ale and some bowls of stew and bread on the table, out of Volsh's reach.



The Guildmaster seems pleased by Haazheel's politeness.  "May yer magic never fail ye," he says.  "Be havin' your badge, young Thorn?"  He looks over the red badge, and nods.  "Aye, we're not full up yet, so we've got space enough for thee and the owl.  Warm cider and whatnot stew is what we have, enough to stick to the ribs on a day like this.  I'll tell Valia to leave some meat raw for the owl.  Be checking the board, there.  Couple jobs could probably use a spellslinger."

Valia, the serving woman with the remarkable collection of daggers, returns from the kitchens soon enough with stew and cider for Thorn and several other Guild members.  She pauses to drop off a small bowl of raw meat pieces for Mystique, and another with both meat and a meaty bone for Thunder.

After taking a few swallows of hot mulled cider to take the chill from him, he rises and goes over to the Guildmaster. "Please forgive my lack of manners Master Steelhead, may your beard never fade, and your treasure ever grow with the blessings of great Moradin The Soul-Forger, but the cold and wet had my bones chilled and mind numbed. I am Farian Raymellie, lowly priest of the Sun Father, a new redbadge in your great guild." with this he shows his badge. "I would beg refuge from this weather and ask if I may find a bed tonight by your fire, and perhaps a pointer or two about finding a good place to start for a fresh adventurer such as myself."

The Guildmaster nods graciously.  "Sun shine on ye.  Space enough can be found.  We've got enough comin' and goin' to usually have beds open.  Hmm... Well, if you're decent at the healing arts, there's few who wouldn't want you along.  But seein' as you follow Saint Bane," Guildmaster Steelhead nods at the filigree silver skull laid over Pelor's golden sun on Farian's holy symbol,"Ye'd best play to the strengths you've worked at.  Take a look at that notice there.  No, that one.  Blue ink with the arrow symbol on it.  Aye, the one for Boltharrow.  They say goblins on it, but the goblins been sighted in old ruins.  Now, could be it's just goblins, and a fair amount of them.  But the old ruins attract old things, and sometimes dead things.  Might be something you'd like to look into."  The Guildmaster pauses to rub his whetstone over his axe blade a few times.  "My advice to ye is to look between the lines.  People that make these notices don't know a roper from a choker sometimes, and one of those is a task more for Ironguards than Redbadges.  Preparation and information get ye much farther than just charging in like a raging badger.  Otherwise I'll be seeing your armor hanging on the wall with a sad note on it one day."

Farian nods his appreciation, "thank you Master Steelhead, I'll study the notices further and ponder them." He then turns back to the message board and begins to read it thoroughly.

In addition to the three you noticed when you were casually perusing the boards before:

"Goblins sighted outside of town of Boltharrow in old ruins, need investigated by fearless adventurers."

 "Town well infested by irate chuul, will pay for head!  Apply at Deepwater."

 "Strange disappearances in mine at Garthal, possibly of magical nature.  Need to search for missing."

Farian takes a longer look to see what else is troubling the region.

"Blazing new trail to remote dwarven mine, adventurers needed for protection.  Payment in gems.  Apply at Redhaven."

"Sinkhole in meadow leads to unknown underground building.  Farmer must protect his stock!"

"Human girl, age fifteen, red hair, blue eyes, penchant for fighting with a threshing flail, curses like a swineherd.  Reward of pork feast and leather goods if returned to Dethan family farm in Harrowvale rather than take her adventuring.  Karlie, come home!"  (Below this notice is tacked another notice.  "NO!")

"Wir Avante seeks caravan guards to travel to Gajin.  Swamp experience a plus."

"White tree-tiger spotted in Rainfern Woods.  Wanted captured alive!"

"Mysterious lights dancing over Fen on the Fen.  Not will 'o wisps, we know better than that!  All cats have vanished.  Help?"

"Will pay in potions for adventurers willing to field-test new experimental magic equipment with hard useage.  No experience necessary." (Below this is tacked another notice, "Or wanted."  And another, "HA!")

"Ancient stone door discovered.  Gives me the screaming willies.  Need adventurers to put to rest whatever is inside."

Farian goes down through the list, item by item, then goes back to his seat, deep in thought. He sits there, drinking mulled cider absently with a blank stare in his eyes as he thinks on the list. "Any of you gentlemen care to join me in some adventure?"

Drogo and Bruenor are sat close by the ones making a commotion. They have already been for the previous night and therefore remain dry. They are enjoying their meal and ale discussing about the possible jobs to pick. "I think I quite fancy taking the job in the ruins with the goblins. There's sure to be great riches the deeper we go in there. We'll probably  need a good sized group to tackle that one, eh?" He then turns his head to the newcomers next to them. He jabs Bruenor and directs his attention towards them. Then says with his voice increased in volume. "Hey, Bruenor. How about we team up with this lot over there. We should have everything covered with them along with us." He then stands up. And says to them all. "You guys wanna take on the ruins with Bruenor and I, Drogo. You all look just the type to be able to get it done. What do you say? If we don't act fast another group will get all the spoils of that old ruin." He gets up and walks over to them to finalize the deal with his hand outstretched.

"Eh? You a burglar? What does your friend do?" Farian says, withholding his hand for the moment. "Drogo? What are your credentials?" he says holding up his red-badge.

Bruenor reaches out to grab the cuff of Drogo's shirt, stopping him before saying, "Hold one moment, Drogo. First, I would like to know the manner of company we'd be keeping."

He and Drogo then walks up to the table where the three humans and two elves have gathered, his right hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his rapier. As Drogo speaks, his blue eyes move over the five in turn, marking their ranks, before saying, "I hope we have your pardon for the interruption, my...associate and I have only just completed a long journey, but already he is eager set out again." He casts a sideways glance at the barbarian before continuing, "Though your decorum may be lacking, you all seem able-bodied enough, so we have a proposition for you, if you are indeed capable."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Tue 10 June 2014.

"We're listening, though I can only speak for myself."

When Bruenor grabbed him. "Erk. Hey." Drogo composed himself realizing Bruenor needs to speak giant way with them. Not really understanding the problem in the first place. He already made his offer about the ruins and riches. He pokes his head out to Bruenor and said. "Ruins and riches, tell them Bruenor." Then looks at the group and says. "Ya wanna get rich don't ya. That's why we're here aern't we? Oh yeah, my credentials. Although Bruenor and I already succeeded in a job already. After we complete the ruins we're sure to move up a notch or two." He waves his red badge at them.

"Listening in one of the paths to knowledge," answered Haazheel with a smile to the two new adventurers. "I see you are also interrested in the old ruins? This notice picked my interrest as well as the one from an elvish archer willing to travel."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 20:39, Wed 04 June 2014.

"You already went on a job? What did you do?"

"Ah yes," says Bruenor, turning to indicate one of the elves, " I saw the archer post that appeal just this morning." He then turn back to the group at large and continues, "From that, I know what the elf can contribute to our effort, but what about the rest of you, where do your skills lie?"

At the cleric's question, Bruenor answers, with an air of self import, "We were hired by a trading caravan in Meadowlark to protect them as they crossed Ice Lake to Albon, and from there escort them on-foot to Redhaven."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:37, Tue 10 June 2014.

"I am a priest of the Sun Father, Pelor."

"My name is Haazheel Thorn, wandering wizard, and here," Haazheel make a small gesture with his hand and immediately an owl lands on the wizard's shoulder, "is Mystique my friend and familiar." Then Haazheel points the bowl Valia left for the owl on the table. "Get some food my friend." The owl leaps to the bowl and starts eating, keeping an eye on the company around him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:42, Wed 04 June 2014.

The barbaian finds that he is at the center of banter that does not interest him. He acknowledges the priest of Pelor and the archer in turn, but chooses not to retort. As the blonde informs him of his faults he stands and drops his tunic in place of his seat.

He marches up to the counter whereby the guildmaster, this Master Steelhead, is perched. He opens the small coin purse at his waist and grips an indeterminate amount of coinage.

“Master Dwarf,” he speaks low although resounding, “Indeed I am what civilized folk might name as barbaric. Thus, like all here, I seek only fair trade of skills and coin. Know that offense was not meant in my words.” The large man hesitates and then continues before a response may be offered.

“I sound demanding…  that is fair, but upon sight you seemed the only warrior worth acknowledging. Allow me start again. I am called Volsh. I hail from a lost land and thus claim nowhere as home. I am a mere traveler. I carry not this red badge that many flash with abandon, but my thirst for adventure is what keeps me driven to move forward and has kept me alive on the road since I was a youth. Allow me to join your guild and that beyond my needs are yours, and trust that my needs are few.”

The barbarian drops the coins from his palm on the counter in front of the guildmaster. They rattle as they settle into place. There are eight gold coins in all. “Mark this as forward payment through the winter.”  Volsh extends his hand in a gesture of respect.

"I believe several of us are only redbadges, but capable enough as far as that goes.  As for decorum, the... large person, now talking with the dwarf," and his head inclines toward the momentarily departed barbarian, "invited himself to our table - his manners are not ours, I assure you."


"I am that elf, Averdante, of the wood elves near Greenfire Lake. I traveled with kin via riverboat to Clam (and it's not as much as it sounds, I assure you), where we parted ways - and I accompanied a small trade train here.

"I only arrived late yesterday myself, and have had time to look over the various pleas and invitations, and to consider them...

"Unless one of us claims far more experience than average, I think several must be dismissed out of hand. I spoke with Master Steelhead as to several I was unfamiliar with - Chuuls are beyond us, and I know from my kin that a tiger would be as well. Anything "mysterious" or "ancient" or "into the wild" is indeed a wild card, it could be anything - and quite easily a quick death and no grave. If it does not have a name, I am not excited to be the one to try to put one on it.

"The most attractive, to myself, were indeed the goblins in Boltharrow, but equally so the "mysterious lights" at Fen on Fen - while unnamed, if all that are missing are cats, the lights most likely are not all that dangerous to a prepared party, even if one of redbadges.

"Besides - cats are worthy of rescue, or justice."

And he punctuates his statement by tossing another crumb of cheese to the grey cat lounging by the hearth, who once again pounces on it and just as quick deems it tasty enough to gobble down.

"Before you all arrived, I had set my mind to seek out this fire wizard... Nump?  Claims to be just the man for an adventure.  A good fire wizard can be give a group..." he picks up his goblet, and swirls the liquid, seeming to consider his words carefully, "...a very nice... edge."

He narrows his eyes, tilts his head back a bit, and nods with a faint smile in emphasis of his words, before sipping from the goblet.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:18, Thu 05 June 2014.

Master Steelhead holds his peace for a moment, then clasps Volsh's hand.  "Learning is the privilege of the young, that they might live to know better.  Aye, I accept.  If ye be wantin' into the Guild, I need a thing or three t' note down.  Yer name, specialty, splitin' heads and whatnot asunder, I take it? and if ye have anyplace regular you hang your furs.  If ye have any unseen talents, sing them out too, like trackin' or whatnot."

If Volsh gives those things, Master Steelhead will write them down, then beckon him out to a half-protected courtyard through a side door.  "Limber up a bit, lad, and let's see what you can do.  To the first fall, not to the blood."  Master Steelhead swings his axe easily, and waits patiently for Volsh to begin.

"So a priest, a mage, and an archer then, along with myself and Drogo, should be more than a match for any mission," Bruenor stated, and then continued, "though I hardly think  missing cats as important as a band of malicious goblins. They are the more pressing matter."

At hearing the guildmaster's offer to the barbarian, Bruenor turns, interested.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Tue 10 June 2014.

The elf seems nonplussed at the assessment, and gives a slight tilt of his goblet and a nod of his head in ambivalent acceptance.

"Boltharrow is the closer of the two, by days. And, admittedly, a triple-barb tends to bite deeper into a goblin than a ball of light."

He sips again, sets the goblet down, puts a small bit of bread and cheese into his mouth, selects one of the arrows from one of the two loose piles on the table, and, picking up his whetstone anew, goes back to a patient and deliberate inspection and honing of the edges of the heads.

He looks up a moment as an afterthought.

"Do we leave then on the morrow, or wait on the storm?  And what of any others - there are several here who may wish to join the effort, besides those who have spoken up at this table.  Where there are some goblins, at times there are many. Do we all have the patience of an elf to scout the situation, and spend the time to return here seeking help if needed?"

"We can leave when we're ready, hopefully, the storm will be over by then. Rain plays hell on armor." Farian looks at the others, "We can invite the barbarian too, I'm sure he does okay in a fight, or, with his manners, he'd be dead by now."

"We may have a chance to see the value of that estimate, if said barbarian accepts the guildmaster's contest," Bruenor said, fully turning to watch the procession of events.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Tue 10 June 2014.

"Good, we can see what he can do before we invite him along, it could be interesting."

After the others keep mentioning about a fight. He walks over to the door to get a better look at what's happening as he says. "whoa, a fight? And with the guildmaster as well. I can't miss this, guys." Impressed with the big guys guts and already getting into a spar with the guildmaster. He rooted him on. "Come on big guy, what are you waiting for? Give it a good go. I'm sure he won't kill you." He then turned to the others with a look of uncertainty and said a bit softer. "He wouldn't, would he?" Then back at the two sparring. "No, of course not. Give it all you got. Yeah!"

Farian goes to watch too, but remains silent, appraising what he sees.

"This will be indeed very informative" says the wizard turning toward the contest. "In case of a combat with some goblins or Boccob knows what other foes are waiting for us in these old ruins, a strong ally will be very handy".

Narthian had sat quietly through the exchanges.  He didn't quite know what to make of all of the newcomers. "Goblins are trash of the forest," he spat. " I would be glad to accompany all of you to put a end to their menace...Oh, I am Narthian and this," pointing towards the animal at his feet, "is Thunder and he has no more like of goblins then we do."

The Druid turned his attention to the Barbarian and the guildmaster.

"Indeed", remarks the elf, to one or both of the last comments.

He then continues, in Elven...

[Language unknown: "I linateone pe p ar le, riome wa aiecos taeve are earlo ticos as le erprdi ichoulore. Ho ble ul unevin whis m sta we n rutpe mihemi o erthu thchhele pa chicad, taos ponc m ameromsta vorstr'ounnce ndven ain virlesbut ughounheryin e k butwilereson andprobutest",], nodding his head first at the notice board, then toward the entrance to the Guild Hall. [Language unknown:  "Me alevas no ch etbene earnc era, reslateen ntcafi usio elhiio a le ri erst. Diwil u wifi, ll userri lo behout waliet... ul..."], nodding this time in the direction of the upcoming match.

As he speaks, he finishes with the arrow in his hand, and puts both piles of arrows, separately, back in the quiver by the foot of his chair, making more room on the round plank table.

"Master Thorn - I would have need of a wizard's insight and opinion of another wizard. Would you join us across the room? Oh - and do you speak elvish - and would you, [Language unknown: k eten entanyoer]", speaking to his fellow elf, ""care for some wine?"

Averdante indicates the stoneware pitcher on the table, fills his pewter goblet - and if necessary, will procure additional (and appropriate) vessels for the others - and then makes his way across the room...
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Sat 07 June 2014.

The Druid smiled at the attention he was getting. [Language unknown: Ri whethuwhe nc evevorcom a estforevelat lat, ichlinith trce miul, N oshiei m ion moicch le st es somateven proionous ave ousanytra ticwerart.]  He looked down momentarily at his wolf.  "I'm sure Thunder will fine as long as no one is silly enough to take away his bone."

Averdante smiles and nods, and signals a barmaid, holding is goblet up high in one hand and pointing at it with the other, then holding up 3 fingers.

[Language unknown: "Earti iepl whetrares ratresshe i moher no p son icaer tr!"]

When the goblets come, he hands one to Narthian, and fills it, and likewise to anyone else who has accepted his invitation, offers a toast in Elvish [Language unknown: "Io Mo Ast ee Ckll Nte!"], and sips, then proceeds across the room.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:26, Sat 07 June 2014.

"Yeah, there will deffinately be loads of goblins. And most likely there will be other creatures there as well. And most important there will be treasure." Drogo rubs his hands together as he finishes. He then looks towards the elves talking and a language that sounds like gibberish. Then says. [Language unknown: "Aswer ven ilropl fiul taaden, artoerhat ven wais ithareyinwilere ughsheter illmansom m ndol t nce to loine RUTOME'UREUND. Whill ol to noman roce uleen wiset utoueefi. Rutestectame as ivbeta po u atfoin eclous nc lath"] He then laughs as he looks around to see if there are any halflings around to see if they enforce what he says.

Farian looks around with a scowl on his face at all of the little groups speaking in 'foreign' languages. Just under his breath, to any trying to hear him, he says, _{"I just think its rude when folks start talking in another language when they're in earshot. Makes one feel like he's being talked about behind his back as it were."}
This message was last edited by the player at 12:19, Sat 07 June 2014.

Narthian blushed at the comment from the Cleric. "I apologize, my good sir.  I meant no offense.  It is just a bad habit I guess.  Nothing was being said about you, I swear."

"Well, I was. I was saying how you all are talking too much about nothing when we should be preparing for our job. Well, for the most part anyways." He smiles and crosses his arms as he rolls his eyes.

There are two halflings at a nearby table, the younger one in bright-colored leathers, and an older woman in the padded gambeson.  They chortle quietly at Drogo's comment.  "It's true!" the woman says, and takes another sip of something steaming from a mug, toasting Drogo's wit.

---

Those gathering to see the fight between the barbarian and the Guildmaster crowd the large door to the training yard.  The barbarian unsheathes a longsword and cuts back and forth a few times, muscles bulging as the sword slices through the air.  Clearly he's a man whose speed is only outmatched by his strength.  With a roar he nips in, swinging to only strike with the flat of his blade.  The first slash only misses by a whisker, while the second clangs hard against the Guildmaster's axe.  With a grunt, the old dwarf disengages and swings his own axe around.  Volsh dodges a swipe from the heavy blade, but can't land a blow in return, and takes a pulled axe-haft to the side as he tries to overreach.  Smarting, he dodges the last blow, barely, as the Guildmaster grounds his axe.

"Not too bad lad, for one your age.  You're a wildfighter, eh?  You'll be using that fine enough when facing those that want for killing.  Good.  I'll sign your papers and get you your badge."  Master Steelhead jerks his head back towards the warm inner Guildhall, and both come in out of the raw weather.  Volsh has a bruise on his side, but nothing is broken.

The Guildmaster goes behind the counter and signs Volsh's papers.  He tucks them inside a box with several others, puts one sheet of them inside the tough, carved-leather badge, snapping it shut.  The badge is bright red and tough enough to withstand a stray slice with a blade or even an arrow.  There are a few stories circulating around the Guild that one's life has been saved by their badge stopping an arrow or a monster's claws or whatnot.

"Here's what we do.  Ye pay the dues, ye get a night's stay with a meal in the Guildhall for nothing.  Longer than that, ye pay, but it'll be cheaper than most inns, and safer too.  Ain't nothing fancy, but we take care of our own.  Ye want to ask others about how to fight monsters or get around traps, that's what the Guildhalls are for.  We usually have someone about who can tell what loot you might find is magic, and someone who can patch you up a bit, and fer less than you might pay a magician or tithe to a priest.  Tis yer job to keep us informed on what you've been doing.  Do enough work, we'll move ye up to the next badge, and you'll be getting better fees from those lookin' for adventurers.  Tithe a bit more to the Guild if you have the gold to spare, and there's more that can be had.

"Lie to us about what you've done, harm those in your care, fleece them, and you'll be seein' the other side of our blades."  The Guildmaster puts the badge on the counter.  "All right, lad?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:38, Sat 07 June 2014.

"Well done barbarian! At least you're not all hot air! The bruise will go away in a week or two, mine did. As I was saying earlier, Farian Raymellie is the name. Several of us have been discussing cleaning out a den of goblins, would you care to join us?"

"My cousin speaks the truth - I thought all were watching the barbarian's test, and didn't wish to further bother any with our discussion that interested no others. It is a rare and welcome opportunity to speak one's mother tongue, something humans take for granted in their majority."


"We have until the morrow at least, and perhaps longer if the storm does not break, depending on the mood. See to your own preparations, we shall see to ours", and he nods to the halfling in assurance, then turns to his fellow elf with an unspoken question on his face, and leads the way across the room to where the two halflings, who had responded to Drogo's call, sat at their own table.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:42, Sat 07 June 2014.

"My apologoes for being thin skinned. No offense taken. I'm just not used to it. Perhaps if I were a little brighter I could learn your languages, alas, I'm not very good at those things."

The druid smiled at Farian as he stood and patted the cleric on the shoulder.  "I am sure we will all need to learn new things if we are to work together.  Which I am excited to do."  Narthian followed behind Averdante.

Volsh walks back to the counter following the Guildmaster. The wild man shakes like a dog, head to foot, to once again shed the rain from him. He doesn't seem to notice the fast bruising which has occurred as a result of the dwarf's blow; a strong blow even pulled.

He listens respectfully as Master Steelhead makes his speech, then nods to show he understands. "A fair contest Master Steelhead. Someday I hope there will be a friendly rematch, eh?" The barbarian accepts his red badge and swivels to return to the table. He grabs his tunic once again and wipes his face and dons the garb, loose and warm.

His gaze falls on the man of Pelor as he sits, "Thank you sir, and yes, I will join you. It appears I am now one of the guild. And, I had planned on leaving after a hearty meal anyway. At least this way I can enjoy and overnight stay in the comfort of a shelter before heading out. Has been ages since I was afforded that chance."

Volsh stops the server as she comes by again, "Might I have that ale and stew please, double portions would be great." He holds up a single gold piece between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, does this mean you all have accepted to join us on the job?" His eyes lit up as he realized they have indeed accepted the job offer. He rubs his hands together excitedly. "Oh, goody goody goody. Treasure treasure treasure. hee hee." He then turns to Bruenor and said. "Did you hear that we're all going on the job."

Haazheel stands up and first walks by the Barbarian: "Nice demonstration indeed, a great asset to our new company, I'm Haazheel Thorn, wandering wizard and over there is my friend Mystique, glad to make your aquaintance" he says pointing an long-eared owl eating from a bowl on a table. "But if you excuse me, I have some people to talk to. Enjoy your meal, you honorably earned it".
Then Haazheel walks in the direction of Averdante, catching up with him [Language unknown: "On verratlatund Ineounkor Llwino, N iowa hi in il conprehisdin, ev ndinel Po haen mothpr p. Usst filominoul ol nteterwhevor st ortanystrdin pl ate en Heiote redterman isred. Th le eenentpro venstivir e oustheera, Ch i consheset no din be"]

The grey cat had disappeared unnoticed from the vicinity of the fireplace about the same time the wolf arrived there, but now appeared from beneath a table on the far side of the room where Averdante now stood, and rubbed once against the elf's leg.  The elf glanced down and smiled at the interruption, but did not choose to further acknowledge the mouser at this moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:40, Sun 08 June 2014.

Both elves and Haazheel wander over to speak with the halflings at their table, while the others are in discussion at their own.

OOC:  I moved the discussion with the halflings to a different thread for the sake of clarity.

---



"Maybe someday, lad.  Keep yerself in one piece out there, eh?" Master Steelhead says.



Valia, the server, takes the gold with a nod and returns soon with a large bowl of hot, meaty stew, and a large mug of ale.  "There you are.  So," she adds, addressing the table at large, "You're going for the Boltharrow job?  Any of you been there before?"

"No, I have not, I can not say so for my new brethren though, perhaps one or more has at least been in the vicinity before." He drinks more of his mulled cider and orders some stew from the waitress and hands her the payment for it.

Valia takes the silver piece for Farian and nods.  "It's a decent little place.  They have a good stand of ash trees, so they make particularly fine arrows.  There's some ruins a bit out of town, so if it's goblins that have moved in, they'd have plenty of places to hide, the little buggers.  No Guildhall there, but the Pickled Pig Inn has rooms where one can stay."

"Yes, of course I did," Bruenor replies to the halfling.

When the server speaks, Bruenor replies with full confidence, "Although I haven't been to Boltharrow, I have enough experience with goblins to know what to expect; as a whole they are but cowards, backstabbers that hide in holes.

"Until they get hungry is my guess, then anything goes. I've never seen a goblin myself, but I have heard stories about them.

"How far is Boltharrow from here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:27, Sun 08 June 2014.

"Never been myself," Volsh murmured between mouthfuls of stew without lifting his head from his bowl, "but I'd be happy to sink my blades into a few goblin skulls." He pauses to down a huge slug of his ale. Foam gathers on his beard. "Those damned creatures are beyond savage. Only trouble comes of their lurking."

"Nasty and half-crazed with a penchant for fire is what they are.  Watch your backs about them.  Boltharrow's about a day's journey north, give or take," Valia says.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:15, Mon 09 June 2014.

"Thank you for the information and the warning. I'll remember it."

Drog added his bit about goblins. "Don't need to know much about them. Only thing we need to know is watch each other's backs and kill the goblins, easy." He finishes as he nods his head as he looks around. "Oh, by the way. I'm all ready to go. So when you all get all your gear and say all your prayers or whatever. Let me know so we can get started."

"I think we should see what the weather is like in the morning. Sludging through the mud and pouring rain is no walk in the park."

"Agreed, it would do us a disservice to be beaten down by the storm before even finding the enemy," Bruenor acknowledges to the elf. "However, if what the server says is true," here he gestures to the woman, "leaving at first light would put us at the goblins' dens at nightfall, and wandering into enemy territory relatively blind doesn't sit well with me either..."

At this, Bruenor trails off, considering the groups options fully in his head.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:33, Tue 10 June 2014.

"Then I suggest we travel until early evening and make camp well away from the place. Then we head out at first light and get there by mid-morning and begin cleaning the place out. Sound okay?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:42, Tue 10 June 2014.

"You could stay at Boltharrow proper, if you get there after dark.  The ruins are a bit off from the village itself," Valia volunteers, reaching over to refill the pitcher from her own.  "It's not the first time they've had trouble, though this sounds a touch bigger than past problems.  I remember talking to a Guardsman; the last time it was a bandit gang."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:11, Tue 10 June 2014.

"Ahh, now that sounds like a splendid idea! I say we plan to do just that. What do you others think on the proposition?"

"I agree, this is a wise course of action," Bruenor answers to the cleric.

"Souns good... URRP... to me. Might even haf time ta scout the ruins 'fore nighffall." Volsh's words are interrupted by his chewing.

"Perhaps, though I'm not sure it is advisable. We'll consider that when the time comes."

As those at the table debate their strategy for the morrow, a half-elf wanders down from upstairs.  He's carrying a lute, and goes to speak with Master Steelhead briefly.  The dwarf nods, and the half-elf goes to sit on a stool near the fire.  He tunes the lute for a few moments, then launches into a ballad about the love of a mermaid and an elf, and the God of the Spring who married them.  He has a fine, clear voice, and the tune is a good one.  He slides from that into a cheerful song about a bonny shepherd lass tricking a wicked warg, and then a couple of slip-jigs, a bright contrast to the miserable weather outside.

The other Guild members smile, a few clap their hands, and one creaky-looking older fighter-type gets up and does a not-too-terrible bit of a jig to one of the tunes, to the amusement of all.

"Y'haven't moved that fast since we got attacked by stirges on the Dead River!" someone else at his table calls out, and the fighter just bows.

"Iffn I hadn't, you'd have been lunch, Mallok," he shoots back, and flops back down in his chair.

The bard chuckles a bit and launches into a new tune as the night winds down.

Farian waits for the elves to finish their discussion, say their peace, then will retire for the evening to get an early start if the weather breaks.

OOC - Speak then already, you started your 'meeting' on Sunday for heavens sake! Time to get it on! ;)
This message was last edited by the player at 18:25, Fri 13 June 2014.

At the conclusion of the fighter's jig, Bruenor gives a quick bout of small applause before turning to the server. "I think, one more cup of ale before I retire, of the lady may," He asks, and continues to enjoy the entertainment.

If Valia brings his ale, he consumes it with deliberate but relative haste before he retires to his bed, wanting to be ready for tomorrow.

From the table across the way where Averdante, Haazheel, and Narthian have been speaking to the halflings, the young halfling man jumps up as the others push their chairs away from the table and all but bounces over.

"Hello hello!  Dellas Nump, at your service, fire wizard and general arcanist.  This is Vish," he adds, pointing to the sleek brown weasel on his shoulder.  "Awfully glad to meet all of you, and I'm sure we'll be able to send those goblins packing right quick!"  He does a quick bobbing bow in each person's direction in greeting, as polite halflings do.

Hard on Dellas' heels is a slightly older halfling woman in the padded gambeson one wears under armor, wearing a dully gleaming holy symbol of Yondalla at her throat.  Compared to Dellas, she's practically radiating calm.

"Sir Aberlyane Nump, sister to this eager one, paladin of Yondalla, Blackwarden of the Guild, and a willing participant in making the world a better place," she says.  She gives a small bow to all those at the table.

As the separate discussion breaks up, the halflings lead the way back to the original table.  Averdante, with Narthian and Hazheel, find themselves behind the two shorter adventurers, and the elf can be seen giving a half-shrug, if accompanied by a bit of a smile.

"Indeed, this," indicating the young male halfling, "is the 'eager fire wizard' advertised on the wall, and this..." indicating the halflingess in gambeson, "is his sister. And altho' she is more experienced, she has agreed to join our effort for an equal share, no more, and not to presume to lead, but happy to share her experience as desired.

"We" indicating Goldleaf and Thorne, "have spoken with them at some length, and unanimously are in favor of adding their talents to our group - with all your consent, as Master Thorne explained... if you trust us, then trust us when we say that we have reason to trust them."

He looks to the group for their agreement, or at least lack of objection.

Narthian nods at Avery's comment and moves to his original seat.  He reaches down and pats Thunder on his haunches.  He had nothing to add or at least nothing that would draw him deeper out of his shell.

"Greetings Lady Aderlayne Nump, good wizard Dellas Nump, I am Farian Raymellie."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:29, Sat 14 June 2014.

"I have no objection to adding a veteran guild member to our number, nor to another Mage."  Bruenor then addresses the paladin directly, " it is not often to see one of the halfling people to embrace the way of the blade as you have, though I have heard stories of uncommon heroes..."

Volsh finishes his stew by tilting the large wooden bowl and slurping the last remnants. He wipes his dripping beard with the back of his forearm and speaks, "With a group such as we have here, seems we can't fail."

He raises his mug to the assembled party around the table, "May we purge the countryside of the goblin filth."

"Here here," Bruenor answers simply, calmly raising his ale.

Averdante nods in satisfaction, "I believe that's a consensus - welcome to the party, Sieur Aberlayne and Master Dellas.  If the storm looks like it should break by mid-morning, we'll leave early, hopefully before first light, so get plenty of sleep tonight. We can trudge a few hours in the rain and then dry out before we get where we're going, rather than risk losing the quest to another party from another hall.

"Narthian and I will be up early, as is the habit among elves, so we'll wake all up if the weather looks agreeable, or let you all sleep in if it looks like we'll be here another day."

He pulls enough chairs up to the table for the newcomers, should they wish to sit, and takes his own chair again, picking up his quiver, giving it a soft rattle of inspection out of habit, and setting it down again - and trading that for the pitcher of wine, with which he refills his own glass and that of the druid, and any others who seem to prefer that beverage over ale.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:32, Sat 14 June 2014.

Farian drinks to the toast and nods his agreement with Av as well about rest and leaving early on the morrow.

Drogo's eyes widen. "Now that's what I'm talking about. More halflings is what we need. We'll definitely succeed now." then says to the two halflings. "Welcome to the group, glad to have you."

Haazheel takes a sit with the company and also raises his glass of wine he just ordered at the bar. "I think we have now a very interresting party. May our exploits be worth to be sung in ballads in a future night like this one in the guildhall! I will study my spellbook tonight before catching some sleep." he said before drinking some of his wine.

Farian sits back, listening and watching the crowd in the guildhall trying to catch any snippets of information he can.

21:26, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 9 using 1d20+3. Spot.
21:26, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 21 using 1d20+3. Listen.
21:25, Today: Farian Raymellie rolled 15 using 1d20+1. gather information.

Because elves need so much less sleep, Averdante will stay up and keep Farian company, and keep his own ears and eyes open, retiring to his room late to trance and then getting prepared for the journey in the wee hours, awakening his companions well before dawn.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:12, Sun 15 June 2014.

After checking out the crowd and listening to what he can for about fifteen or twenty minutes, Farian retires for the night as well to get his rest for the morning.

"Elves might no need much sleep but my friend here," he patted the wolf again, "does.  So if you'll excuse us.  I am eager for the morning to come."  The druid leaves the table with Thunder at his side.  Stopping half way to the rooms, Narthian stops and returns to gather his pack.

Dellas seems delighted with meeting the group.  "With all of you, I'm sure we'll beat them!" he says enthusiastically.



She laughs lightly.  "And I you, Brother Raymellie, but Yondalla's faithful have no 'Ladies' in their ranks.  Let those with more delicate sensibilities claim that title; my embroidery's enough to make a cat laugh.  I can swear in five real languages and three more I'll just make up, as well as ride a pony and swing a battleaxe."



A troubled look crosses both of the Nump's faces, but it's Sir Aberlayne who answers.  "Most halfling warriors stay close to their communities.  Those who try to attack us in our homes are in for a nasty surprise.  Dellas and I lost most of our kin when we were children; they had a magician that sent our warriors to sleep.  Us and three others were the only survivors.  So we lend spell and sword so others don't have to suffer the same fate."



"And glad to meet a fellow!" Dellas says, managing a smile as his normally sunny disposition comes to the fore.



------

Farian watches and listens for a bit in the common room before retiring, and sees the half-elf bard go and talk with the fur-wearing gnome.

"You best be changing your tune, Verdan, when we head off tomorrow.  The Warden only likes sad songs," the gnome says.

"I'll make them as sad enough to make a butterfly weep.  You know me, regular gloom and doom when I write the poetry.  I'll melt the Warden's heart in two ballads or less."

"You'd best.  I'm not wanting to have to fight rambling brambles the whole way down.  Or rat swarms."

The half-elf agrees and pulls a long, sad face with wide, dewy, innocent eyes. The gnome snickers a bit, and they sit to enjoy a last mug of something before drifting off to find accommodations.


With that, things wind down, and you can all seek your beds for your virtuous rest.  Accommodations at the Guildhall are not fancy; simple but fairly comfortable beds in one of two large barracks-like room, a small chest at the end of each bed to stow one's gear in.  Those with higher rank (and more gold) could get more luxurious private rooms, but those are limited in any Guildhall.  But the price is right for those not wanting to spend their coin at a pricier inn.

You can sleep or trance decently, the rain lulling you to sleep and covering the snoring noises of fellow adventurers, and at a positively unholy hour, Valia comes 'round to wake the lot of you by the simple expediency of dropping a wrapped warm small loaf of buttered bread on your heads.  If you come to the common room, there's hot tea to go with it, along with Averdante, looking slightly smug.  Sir Aberlayne is also looking annoyingly alert, though Dellas is yawning as he shoves bread into his mouth.

"Rain cleared off in the night," Sir Aberlayne comments.  "It's not too bad to travel."

"[Language unknown: Utfoth omeno, comoutbut meom]," Dellas mutters, propping his eyes open, and Sir Aberlayne grins.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of adventuring, little brother."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 13:30, Mon 16 June 2014.

"And hot bread and tea are not the usual wakeup call for adventurers, young sir, nor is time a luxury, so enjoy and be quick about it. Drink up and shove the rest in your pocket or your mouth, we hit the road and make distance before light.

"We'll be in Boltharrow well before sundown, and we can ask about and make a plan, see what damage has been done and what it might take to stop any more."

He himself seems to have already broken fast, his bow against his chair and his pack and cloak lay before a growing crackly fire that is still catching at splits of wood newly placed upon it.

Haazheell comes to the table, bringing his breakfast."Good morning everyone, I hope most of you enjoyed a good night sleep. I worked on some spells for the road. These days traveling is not so safe." he said while drinking his tea.

The trek back from Bolthaven is blessedly free of anything untoward.  One traveler is actually heading towards Bolthaven, and is very relieved to hear the goblin problem has been solved.  "I'm a dab-hand with a bow, but I can only fire one at a time.  Bless you!" he says, and strides off with a spring in his step.

It is just sundown when you reach Redhaven itself, and within a half-hour, you're back at the Guildhall.

It has been a week since you’ve seen the Redhaven Adventurer’s Guildhall, but little has changed save the people in the common room.  A group of three woman with red feathers braided into their hair sit at one table, two dwarves converse at another, and there’s a huge chair facing the fireplace, screening its occupant from casual view.  The scents of frying sausage and ale reach your noses, and Valia (the serving woman you remember, the one with the remarkable collection of daggers) smiles as you enter.

"You didn't die, Redbadges!  Not a bad feat.  Go square with Master Steelhead and I'll be back around to see what you need," she says cheerfully.

Master Steelhead, the dwarf with iron-gray hair and three fingers missing on one hand, sits behind the counter at the back of the Guildhall, examining an axe blade with finicky precision.

And of course there are the ever-changing contents of the wall of notices.  Parchment and paper in every color and level of literacy adorn the wall, asking for adventurers to aid them, advertisements for those who cater to adventurers, or other adventurers seeking to form temporary or permanent bonds.

Jobs

















Services











Bonds











Not even religious institutions are above leaving notices in a Guild Hall, though they tend to be in the form of verses from various holy texts, a prominent display of the church symbol, and directions to the nearest house of worship.

One of them reads –


Another says –


A third reads -

This message was last edited by the GM at 04:31, Tue 11 Aug 2015.

Dellas grins at Vania and answers: "Well, maybe we ARE dead but we just don't know it yet". He lets Valia do her job and turns towards the others "Do you want to stay here for a day or two and rest? I would at least want to try to find someone who can sell me some scrolls. I used a lot in our last adventure." He looks in deep in thought and talks more to himself than to the others "We could see if someone here would be interested in taking something off our hands and turn it into money." Looking up again he adds "I trust all of you and think that I don't have to be with you for this vital and important task. How about we meet here again tomorrow at noon?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:57, Mon 17 Aug 2015.

"I think all of us need to resupply for our upcoming trips. I also believe now would be a good time to verify any and all items we have and see about trading, selling, or buying new gear. We might be here longer than a couple days if we are waiting for new gear or enchantments for our items."

Turning towards Valia, "Greetings noble flower, may Pelor shine his light upon your features. Our journeys have fared well with us. We are stronger and sturdier in our paths and our beliefs."

Turning back towards the rest of the group, "Let's collect what we need to then proceed to either a Guild Magus for identifying our gear, or the local Temple district for possible destroyal of any cursed or evil items."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:57, Mon 17 Aug 2015.

"I think that it is a good idea to check the items before using them. My father told me a story about a cursed ring that made him drool enough to make talking difficult, and we wouldn't want that. After we deal with those items, what job do you think we should undertake?" she asks as she begins to peruse the board.

"My best guess are either the caravan guards or the unknown beast. Those would best suite our warriors and the beast might be a good chance for our Druid to do his thing."

"The caravan requires Blackwardens," Averdante points out as he wanders over to join them. "Ours are still red."

He nods to Valia, thinking about a glass of wine, but opting to wait until they've sorted things out with Steelhead.

"Narthian and I need to get the arrowheads we found put onto arrows. Depending on how busy the fletcher is, that'll take a day or so.

Volsh thought the unusual beast thing might be interesting, or maybe even retrieving an owlbear egg.  He had heard that such beasts were fearsome, and would not mind testing himself against one.

"Well, let's first get the stuff identified and then we can still choose what job to take. I will try to find some scrolls for our next adventure." he turns towards Haazheel "May I assume that you'll also need some scrolls? We can go together and converse a little"

"It is also a pleasure to see you again dear Valia" says the wizard to the serving woman. "May I ask you for some wine?". Then the wizard goes to the Master Steelhead the guildmaster to give his fare for the stay and food at the guild (1gp removed from character sheet). Coming back to the counter, he picks up his wine and examines the board and later joins back the group while Farian is speaking."Sounds like a good plan Farian. I just checked the board the mysterious flying lights and the strange beast look interresting missions." Turning toward Dellas "You are perfectly right dear colleague, scrolls and perhaps some magic items would be a good idea, I am at your disposal" he answers while enjoying his wine.

Bruenor bows his head slightly at Valia as the rested and well-fed group enters the guild hall.  “Nope, didn’t die…not for lack of trying, though,” he quips.

He keeps largely quiet, but voices his agreement as several of the companions discuss going to get equipment identified.  He takes a seat and can be seen periodically sliding a bit of his newly acquired sword from its scabbard to silently admire the intricate designs and inlaid workmanship; sometimes running a finger across the engravings.

As the others discuss the job board, Bruenor shrugs his shoulders, ambivalent as to what they do…fairly content to continue adventuring with this group, and going on whichever job the group should choose.  “It matters not to me…let’s take care of our business here, and get back into the world,” he says, almost sounding impatient.

Given time, he muses that he’s spent well enough of his life to-date in comfortable surroundings dealing with his sister’s superiority on the training field.  These experiences with the guild are what he’s craved…finally feeling free of the expectations and baggage of Forestrun.

Master Steelhead raises his eyebrows at the gold piece, but nods.  "If yer lookin' to scribe, I'll give ye the Scholar's Room, since ye paid up front.  Good light and quiet.  Second story, end of the hall," he says, passing Haazheel a key marked with a book symbol.

Sir Aberlayne keeps her pack with her as she greet Valia with a smile and heads back to speak with Master Steelhead.



Hearing her brother's comment about staying a few days to sell their loot and square things up, she nods.

"That would be wise.  What we have found does us little good unless put to good use.  For certain I'm getting that mace I found resized to fit my hand better.  Does me little good to have something like that if the balance is all wrong," she says.  Then she turns back to Master Steelhead and passes him a pouch that clinks slightly.  From the looks of it, that has to be most of the gold and gems from her share of the loot.

"Twenty gold for the Guild, Master Steelhead, the rest to my fund.  I'm also looking to get a mace resized," she says.  He takes the pouch and goes to the back, returning several minutes later as she waits patiently.

"My hard hands could do it, but I'm full up.  Rosco Ironheart could do it.  Saw his name on the board?" he says.  She nods.  "He's a good 'un, doesn't charge ye like a noble, doesn't hammer like a feather."

"Then I'll throw business his way.  Thank you, Master Steelhead," she says.  Sir Aberlayne peruses the boards briefly again and heads back to the table.

"I remember the lights from Fen on the Fen from last time we were here.  They might be getting desperate, and desperate villagers, assuming they haven't been overrun, pay mighty well.  The bit with the caravan...  That's iffy.  I'm a Blackwarden, and they might accept you with me, but orcs are a goodly sight worse than goblins.  I don't want to be making old bones on the mountainside.  The fact that they said they're paying double up front makes me think they've had trouble before and know it."  She signals Valia, who comes back with a pitcher of ale and mugs for all who want them.  "That bit with the wedding could get us closer to Albion, if you wizardly types needed to see the Arcanum of Boccob."  She shrugs, "Of course, we'd have to play nice, so I don't know how the rest of you feel about that."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:57, Mon 17 Aug 2015.

Narthian takes a seat at the table, Thunder at his feet, after perusing the job boards.  He admires the Ring of Pearly Pines he'd chosen, hoping he'd get a chance to see it in action very soon.  As Sir Aberlayne starts to wax on the sorts of jobs, Narthian puts in his two coppers.

"For fair, I'd like to take a job that involves animals, no surprise here.  Getting an owlbear egg could be tricky, particularly if we don't want to kill the mating pair, and that would certainly be a challenge.  Extracting hippogrifs from a house...  They usually mate in cliffs, so I think someone put them in there.  It could be anything from some sort of bizarre joke to a summoning spell gone very wrong.  Or the unknown beast near Waterdeep... they had a chull in their well last week, if I remember right.  Maybe someone has a vendetta against the town.  Any of those could be very worth of our time and talents!" he says enthusiastically.  "Or that one with the missing caravan along the Dead River - Dellas, that bracelet you got that lets you speak to aquatic things, that could be very useful there."  He glances over at the board and taps his mouth with his finger.

"That paper in the Services section, about the horse fair at Crosston, that could also have other jobs there.  It is a very good place to get mounts, and if we're going to be doing any traveling, we could use some reliable mounts and perhaps a good wagon.  Even a covered wagon, if we could afford it."

Hearing Master Steelhead talking about refitting his sister's mace he pips up "Yay big sis, we can go there together, it is also too big for me.." He turns towards Haazheel "Let's meet tomorrow morning and then we can go to take a look at some scrolls and other things together." Turning towards the others he thinks for a moment "Well, I am not eager to face orcs yet and I agree, it is a bit suspicious that they're asking for Blackwardens and offer double the money.. and even though I'd love to get closer to the Arcanum, I don't think that most of us would do well in such an environment. I am intrigued about the lights, but also worried what for things it might be. My guess would be magic... maybe we should sleep on it. Tomorrow we'll know more" With this he excuses himself and leads his sister to the smithy before going to bed, hoping to find it still open and working.

"I'm interested in the job in the fens, too," Averdante said, helping himself to a mug and a little of the ale. It'd wash the dust of the road away. It had caught his interest last visit. He liked cats, and anything that was eating them to extermination needed killing. "It's a problem that seems to be escalating -- if it's moved up to dogs, livestock, and then people, will be next." He glances at Narthian as he lifts the mug. "There's going to be some kind of creatures there, too -- although they may be the problem."

"The Fens sounds like the place we should start. I think I can sneak around decently, and my eyes are sharp enough to hopefully see anything coming. I do think the wedding could be fun as well, if only to attend one. It has been a while since I got to dress like that." she says, flipping her dagger around playfully. She was greatful to have her nimbleness back. Everything had been sluggish since she was paralyzed, but it seemed that moving around hard returned her to her former agility. One final flip and she sheathes the dagger while standing up. "Let's get those items taken care of first and then we can decide which job to take."

Volsh was thinking they could do more than one job, but he realized they could only do one at a time.  the question was which one to do first.  "Maybe we should see which of the ones we want to do pays the most, and do that one first?"

Of course there were things to attend to first.  "If you need my help with that then let me know.  I am going to find Farian and get this question of cursed items taken care of.  Hopefully it won't take too long, otherwise I'm liable to drink all this loot we just found."   He gave the group a toothy grin as he set off looking for Farian.  He sounded like he was joking but the look in his eye made them wonder.  It would not be the first time a barbarian had unwisely spent his gold on drink and whores, and would likely not be the last.

OOC: Since Farian is out working on his PC, maybe we can get this settled.  Since Farian is a priest of Pelor, it sounds reasonable they would start with a temple to Pelor.  So let's say we start there.

Bruenor stays behind in the Guildhall as some of the others venture out into town, planning to have someone there identify his gear.  If that doesn’t work, he’ll head into town to visit Feld’s shop on Market Street.

He drops in on Master Steelhead to pay for a few days of room & board, and to enquire who he should see in the guild to identify any enchantments.  Should Master Steelhead enquire, Bruenor will show him the prince’s longsword and the exquisite craftsmanship of the blade; figuring the man would have an appreciation for such.

Once finding the appropriate person, he’ll pay to have both the longsword and his chainmail examined.   He’ll advise, “These have both served me well in battle already, but I’m keen to know all I can of their properties and use.”

Lantamori decides that while everyone was going about the business of getting the gear checked out that she would wander the town and see what it had to offer. "I am going to go wander a bit and see if I can find out more about the Fens. I think any extra information might help ease the job along. I'll try not to take too long." she says as she gets ready to leave.

Master Steelhead directs Bruenor to one of the women with red feathers in her hair, who proves to be a human woman of late middle age, but hard and trim from travel.  Her dark hair shows only threads of gray, and she wears loose linen robes bound tight against her body with dark cords.  Her hands are stained with ink rather than sword calluses, but she examines his weapons carefully.

"Kyla Millet, Redbadge Sedricson.  I can tell you some about these arms from an examination, probably a very educated guess, but if you want the properties entire, it's not a cheap process.  Takes a good pearl, crushed up and drunk in wine, to open the eyes to all it has to say.  If you want that, tis a hundred and thirty in gold for my trouble.  For each item.  If you just want me to look at it with magic eyes, thirty gold, all told.  If you're just wanting my experience, I'll assess it for you for ten," she says in a brisk, non-nonsense fashion that makes it clear she's done this many times before.

If you chosoe to just get them assessed:


If you choose to get them looked over by detect magic:


If you choose to get them identified:

-----



Asking about the Fen job, Master Steelhead's bushy eyebrows go up.  "Ha, and I thought Ethrain was going to pay to get his notice bespelled with magical light to get someone asking about it.  He's over at the Brotherhood of Alchemy right now, trying to find floating swamp-light repellent.  He left me a note, where its it... ah!"  He squints at it, then nods.  "Will 'o wisp-type lights started floating around the village some three weeks ago.  Did nothing for a while, then all the cats were gone one day.  No fur or blood ever found, just no cats.  Then now the dogs, same thing.  And the lights are getting more numerous every day.  The whole village is spooked, so Ethrain said, and they can pay in something most adventurers want - healing magic.  They have a small god in their church, one with a remarkable talent.  He's known as the Stone Tree, and Ethrain is his priest as well as the town representative.  If yer interested, I'll sent for Ethrain.  Sure he'd rather talk here than in public anyhow," he says with a bit of a laugh.

When the guildmaster is available again, Averdante approached him. Showing the sturdy dwarf his guild badge, he said, "Master Steelhead, I'd like to pay up on my dues, while I've the coin for it." Six months ahead for now, Dante's decided. And one of the more valuable, heavier gold coins he adds as a tithe to the guild; he'll enjoy better wine, at the very least, during this visit.

When that's settled, he'll ask, "Is there a good fletcher here in town? I found some arrowheads that need mounting, in those ruins. And if you've a recommendation on place I might find some quality clothing? Nothing so pointless as ballroom wear, but I'm of a mind to improve the quality of my casual wear."

His final query is the most complex: "I ran afoul of a very unpleasant contact poison, finding those arrowheads. Sir Aberlayne and Master Farian were a great help, but it was still some days before I fully recovered. I'd like to learn a bit more about the best treatment methods, and perhaps ways to recognize and identify poisons, to help avoid a repeat of such an unpleasant experience. Would there be someone at the guild now, or in town, who could assist me?"

This was undoubtedly a course of study that would take extended instruction to fully grasp, but at the least he could get some basic information now, and maybe arrange for more in depth training later. And also, he hoped, pick up some antidotes for those poisons most commonly encountered.

Before leaving Master Steelhead's company, Bruenor gives him 7 gold pieces...for 6 months' dues and one for a week's accommodation...or portion thereof.

Finding the woman Steelhead sent him to, Bruenor smiles and offers a handshake as Kyla introduces herself.  He raises an eyebrow in surprise at the strength in her grip, then listens intently as she explains her offerings.

“I’d like to know all you can tell me, please,” he says, knowing it’s an extravagance, but feeling like he must know what there is to know of this sword and mail.  He counts out the 260 gold, and watches and listens intently as Kyla performs her ritual…amazed at how she can so readily learn an inanimate item’s properties.

He nods as he learns what magic the prince’s longsword carries, then sounding almost eager…he says, “And the mail?”

After making careful note of Averdante's donations, Master Steelhead ticks off the answers to Averdante's questions on each of the three fingers on his mutilated hand.  "Best fletcher is Catha Highstrung, over on Market Street.  There's about four good second-hand clothing dealers in the market square, but if yer looking for something tailored, Kuri Tailor's shop could make you something in less than a week, if yer aren't looking for peacock feathers.  As for learning about poisons... if you want all the detailed instruction a body could want, I'd say go to t'Brotherhood of Alchemy, three buildings down.  For coin, they'll teach you.  Or if yer wantin' an adventurer's perspective, I'd go talk to the chair."  He nods over at a huge armchair facing the fire, with no head visible above the curve of its back.  "Tikki-Ta the Tiny.  Pixie warhawk, death on four wings, and not afraid to level the playing field with whatever comes to her little paw.  Ye can bargain with her for instruction, if ye dare."

--



The ritual Kyla goes through is a rather elaborate rigmarole that involves dissolving a pearl in a cup of wine and stirring it with an owl feather whilst making arcane mumbles over it.  But it works marvelously.

"Ah, the mail.  The illusory effect on it to hide its appearance," she says, and murmurs shundahar over the armor.  Its sun-embossed appearance fades into plain and unassuming leather, slightly worn.  "I expect the previous owner didn't want to walk about gleaming with gold all the time.  That would make one quite conspicuous.  It is enchanted to be more protective, of course, and you'll find it very easy to wear," she explains.

Through the open doors, Dellas lightly walks in with a big smile across his face. He still isn't used to the sudden weight of his pouch, but he knows that he'll lose that money soon enough on some scrolls that will help him and his team mates.
He greets several guild members and walks over to Master Steelhead for a moment to make sure that he really did pay for everything and adding another 2 gold pieces to have better rooms. With a quick wave towards Averdante, he quickly finds Haazheel "Hello, hello. It's a good time to buy some scrolls, don't you think? We still have to talk strategy and adjust so that we can utilize our spells to their best capabilities." Vish stretches his head from around Dellas' neck and sniffs the air.

A pixie? From the dwarf's description, this Tikki-ka sounded... tempermental. And intriguing. Averdante returned Dellas' wave a little distractedly, thinking that over.

"My thanks for the information, and advice, Master Steelhead," Averdante told the guildhall master with a polite nod of his head, and retreated back into the hall to consider the armchair by the fire thoughtfully.

Much as he wanted to get the arrowheads to the fletcher, he knew where this pixie was right now, and that might not be so easy to learn later. Besides, now he was curious and curiosity had always been hard for him to ignore. Which was, point of fact, why he was looking for someone like her -- because probably sooner rather than later, he was going to get himself into trouble with something poisoned again, being too curious not to open something closed.

So he crossed the room toward the fireplace, and discreet position from which he could see the chair's occupant, to discover if the pixie was, indeed, still there, and if it would be possible to approach her without interrupting anything. From Steelhead's attitude, a blunt approach might get him an unplanned nap, if not something worse.

Haazheel, still with Mystic perched on his shoulder, was enjoying his beverage while the other wizard was away from the guild with his sister. Studying his spellbook and remembering the course of the last events, Haazheel started to write on a piece of paper some of the most fascinating details of this last adventure: the goblin shaman and the skeletons, the riddle to reach the temple door, the tragedy of the children of the Sun, Bruenor's duel, Volsh's force,... These events are material for heartbreaking ballads and epic chronicles. Looking at the composition of his spellbook the wizard wishes to find new spells to help his fellow companions during the eventual combats to come. Of course, he could detect /read magic, bring light in the darkness or cast spells to protect them but when it comes to face an enemy, his frail constitution is no match compare to the others. Already his spells of color spray and grease seemed to have helped during battles. A better coordination with the fire wizard would certainly bring more help to the group. Lost in his thoughts, Haazheel hasn't noticed Dellas entering the guildhall. The fire wizard's words brought back Haazheel in reality "Oh, yes yes, certainly, a perfect time, I was glancing at my spellbook and enjoying my drink while waiting for you. Perhaps we should ask the guildmaster where to find a place to buy magical items and scrolls?" he answers to Dellas.

Moving to find a better angle, Averdante sees the chair is occupied by a tiny woman barely a foot and a half-high.  She wears loose clothing, caught tightly at the wrists, ankles, and waist by wrapped cords in bright colors.  Four dragonfly wings spring from her back, and tiny glints of steel show along her legs.  At her side is a small, round pack, from which protrudes several more hilts.  There is a small plate at her side, along with a normal-sized goblet, from which protrudes a small reed.  She has cut up several pieces of bread and cheese into pixie-sized chunks, occasionally stabbing them with her blade to eat them.  She turns to look at Averdante, her face sharp and fierce with pointed ears and dramatic blue war paint striping her skin.

"What cha' looking at, longears?" she says, her voice high and small.

If Dellas and Haazheel go to talk to Master Steelhead, he takes a quick look at the approaching arcanists, grunts, and points to a covered chalkboard near his desk.  Opening it up, it seems to be a list of loot people are willing to trade or sell, obviously updated frequently.

"If none of those suit, there's some at the Brotherhood of Alchemy," he adds.  The Brotherhood is more widespread than, say, the Temple of Boccob, and lacking a temple or arcane school, the Brotherhood will sell minor magical items like scrolls or potions.

On the chalkboard, you see:



Each one has a small mark next to it, probably a record of who's trading it.

OOC:  the (a) and (d) indicate arcane or divine.

Taking the pixie's address as an invitation to approach, Averdante does so. Offering her a politely gracious bow, he tells her, "My pardon for interrupting, lady. My name's Averdante. Master Steelhead suggested you might be able to assist me. Having recently suffered from handling something toxic, I'm interested in learning more of poisons, and how to counter them."

He doesn't come too close simply to avoid towering over her. If she's willing to talk to him, and there's no other chair readily at hand, he'll sit on the floor. It's not unlikely, he suspects, that she'd enjoy sitting higher than him. And anything that improved her attitude would probably help him in the long run.

Returning from his meeting at the temple, Farian looks for his friends. Going to the table that holds the majority of them he sits down and gets a meager meal and drink to wash it down.

Turning to Aberlayne, Farian places one of the Medallions in her little hand. "Keep this on you at all times, Holy Warrior. My temple will provide a single resurrection to any who holds this medallion, if you should fall defending what is holy and good. I was able to secure these for the Regalia of the Sun we discovered. Whereas that was all I could gather, at least it will better serve our party this way. I have a medallion for each of our members. I am going to pay my dues to Master Steelhead then be right back."

Getting up, Farian meets the dwarf and gives him 20 gold for dues, tithes, and some for the guild bank. It wasn't much, but it was a start. After thanking him, he goes back to their table and sits down with the paladin, awaiting the return of the others.

Volsh returned to the guild house, and let the others know that he was going to seek an armorer.  "I shall return when I have concluded my business.  Perhaps then we can decide what we wish to do next."  He was not sure what the armorer might be able to do, but the more he considered Farian's words, the more their wisdom was revealed.

OOC: I will seek out an armor smith to see if he has something to equal value to trade for the armor, but lighter.  Perhaps a chain shirt, or even chainmail.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:33, Thu 10 Sept 2015.

Looking over the selection he thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head. "I think we should take a look at the Brotherhood of Alchemy, There is one potion that would interest me, but my purse would probably not allow it. Is there anything you're interested in?" He thanks Master Steelhead and pets Vish while he waits for his colleague to finish.

Examining the selection of items, Haazheel answers to Dellas "Hummm I have to say I see nothing pressing me to give away my coins for the moment. Like you I would prefer to go first at the Brotherhood of Alchemy before making any decision." Then turning toward the guildmaster "Thanks Master Steelhead for your help, could you please indicate us the way to the Brotherhood of Alchemy?".
If the guildmaster does answer Haazheel request, the wizard then thanks again the guildmaster and then turning back to Dellas says "Shall we?"

Bruenor finds Dellas and Haazheel in the guild hall discussing magic and hears talk of visiting the Brotherhood of Alchemy.

"Greetings, fair wizards. I'd like to head out into the yard for some training with my sword...Would one of you be able to pick up a couple potions of cure light wounds for me?" he asks, holding out a pouch of gold coins.

He's keen to continue working with his blade...it's hard to explain, even to himself...but it seems the more he uses it, the blade seems to be 'recognising' him.  He shakes his head at the thought, but is anxious to keep training.

"If it would oblige you, we can certainly buy these potions on your behalf, companion, this is the least we can do." answers friendly Haazheel to Bruenor while discussing with the guildmaster for the direction to the Brotherhood of Alchemy.

Looking up at his companions he nods and answers: "No problem, we'll get you your potions" softly pushing Vish back he (and his colleague) go towards the  Brotherhood of alchemy.

Tikki-Ta looks Averdante up and down, stabs another bit of cheese, nibbles it, and finally nods as he spies a low stool to sit upon.

"Be getting the toxins in you, elf breath?  Is not a good drink, eh?  You find me a good blanket, and I'll be telling you what you want to know," she says, waving her little knife at him.  A small towel, large handkerchief, or a good piece cut from a normal blanket will suit Tikki-Ta's size, and once Averdante gives it to her, she sniffs it, then shoves it behind her, leaning on it like a bolster.

"Wear gloves.  Dragonskin with silk lining, if you can get 'em.  First rule of poison - it can't hurt you if it can't get you.  That's good for any nasty that's to get on your skin to kiss you sickly.  'Course, some might smear their blades with sommat dire.  Clean out your cuts right prompt, and make sure there's none left on yer duds or armor where it cut you, else you just get it back in you again.  Bottles of anti-toxin are gonna be your friend, so carry 'em with you where you can get at them easy, not at the bottom of your pack.

"If someone slips a bit into food or drink, get it out of yourself.  Any way you can.  Puke it up, and damn the duchess' company.  That don't work, water until you're fit to burst, or milk if there's a goat handy.  Someone release a poison vapor... silk scarf about your face, wet it down, and get out of the vapor, fast.  Then scrub, scrub, scrub yourself after, and all your gear to boot, with lots and lots of water," she says, punctuating her words with elaborate gestures with her dagger.

---



Sir Aberlayne takes the medallion carefully, and murmurs something quiet, probably in the halfling tongue.  From the tone, it's likely a prayer.  "That's a mighty gift, Brother.  And a fitting one, considering whom we released from death," she says, and gives him a solemn smile.

----



When Volsh goes to ask Master Steelhead about the armorer, that immediately piques the dwarf's interest.  "What do ye have that you need to trade?" he asks.  If Volsh tells him, the dwarf's eyes go a little round, and his bushy eyebrows jump like startled caterpillars.  "Dead-magnet half-plate what protects ye from ghosts?  Set it here, ye mighty heathen," Steelhead says.  He examines the plate, and smiles into his beard.  "I've adventured more years than yer grandfather and grandmother combined, and gathered a collection fit to be robbed, should anyone know much about it.  Trade be across, and I have something for you."  He turns away from the counter and rummages somewhere just out of sight, coming back with a package wrapped in soft leather.

He cuts the cord and unfolds the leather, revealing a light chain shirt with a very faint glow about its links.  "'Tis a moonshirt.  Wore it myself as a boy after pulling a batch of elves out of a fire; took if off the bandit who killed them.  'Tis mithril, light as can be, enchanted to a goodly degree, catches and hold's the moon light enough that you'll never fight in darkness again.  Will ye bargain with me, lad?" Master Steelhead says. 

---

Volsh lifted the shirt to take a look, and the first thing that caught his attention was how light it was.  It did not take him long to conclude that this armor would suit him better than the heavy plate.  He had always trained to use his agility, and speed, and the plate would have made him rely on the blackened to turn aside the blades that would have undoubtedly found their mark.  He had only one concern, "Master Steelhead, this is so light, it is light wearing a shirt of fine silk.  Will it turn aside a knife that finds its way through my defenses?"  He could feel that it was metal in his hands, but it was like nothing he had seen before.

Master Steelhead places the shirt on the counter, reaches down behind the counter, brings out an old battleaxe, and slams it into the chain shirt.  Then pulls his blade away, showing the shirt intact and uncut.  And grins.

Volsh's amazement is evident, as he inspects teh short more closely.  Finally satisfied he offers his hand in agreement to Master Steelhead.  "This is a good trade."

Having not yet gone out into the yard, Bruenor observes Volsh's exchange with the Master Steelhead.  He walks over and peers over the barbarian's shoulder, just as the dwarf brings an axe crashing down on the flimsy-looking mail shirt.

To his surprise, the shirt is unscathed.  He'd heard tales of mithril before, but never actually seen it in action.  Impressive, he thought.

After Volsh concludes his deal with the dwarf, Bruenor says, "Volsh...that's a fine piece of armor you've got now.  That should serve you well in battle, no doubt.

"Plus, no diabolical curses from the king's black armor.  That's a bonus," he says with a smirk.

Volsh gave Breunor a hearty laugh, "Aye, it's light and sturdy as standard chain.  I look forward to putting it to the test.  If your up for it, perhaps we can get some sparring practice in.  I have not fought with a spear for some time, so I'd like to get some practice in before we take on our next job."

He paused for moment, then asked, "Have they decided on a job for us yet?"

Tikki-Ta's information was definitely useful, despite her decidedly brusque manner, especially about handling vapors. Averdante isn't sure he'd have thought to clean all his gear after exposure to gas, but it made sense. Probably some toxins went inert after a time with exposure to air, but that didn't mean all of them did. Not something to risk one's life on, if a basic precaution could protect from further exposure.

Most of her information was merely sensible -- that exposure didn't mean a poison had gone inert, cleaning wounds promptly, washing, and keeping antidotes readily to hand -- but he wasn't used to thinking along those lines. Something which he obviously needed to change; it needed to become reflex, rather than something he had to think about to recall.

It'd be a little hard to keep milk handy, although he was certain there was some enchanted flask or the like that did, or could, make that possible. It'd be something to look into for when he could afford such an esoteric item. A silk scarf would be easy enough to procure. Dragonskin gloves though... "How... cumbersome... are the Dragonskin gloves?" he asks her. "Some of the things most likely to need using gloves also require a considerable bit of... sensitivity... to manipulate."

Given that his skills in that area needed a good deal more refinement, that was when he'd most likely need such protection. If he could still work locks wearing such gloves, he'd ask her if she knew someone locally who might have some for sale. But even if not, gloves of some kind might have protected him from the poisoned lead.

In reply to Volsh son of Vor (msg # 143):

Bruenor nods at the shaggy warrior.  "Yes, a bit of sparring sounds good.  This fine blade and I are still getting to know one another."  The thought of getting some practice in against a reach weapon is appealing to him, as well.  Who knows what manner, or size, of creature they were likely to encounter next.  Still settling in with his newly acquired gear, Bruenor utters, "Shundahar"...and grins as his worn, leather armor shimmers and seems to magically be replaced by the golden-gilded chainmail armor he found in the tomb.  "Now I'm ready," he says to Volsh.

As they continue talking, he says, "I don't think we've settled on a job yet, but truth be told, I'm not particular.  I'll go where everyone thinks best.  Tell me, Volsh...what brought you to toil for the guild?"

Volsh followed Bruenor to the training grounds, and smiled as the fighter shifted his armor from leather to chain.  It was quite nice looking, and the deception was a good trick.  He heft the spear and spun it, getting the feel for its weight, as he moved into a fighting stance, and began to circle with his opponent.  "I was told that if I draw blood with this weapon it will cause uncontrollable anger, so I shall only use the flat of the blade."

Breunor had shown excellent footwork and technique in his fight with the prince, so Volsh figured he would need to be creative against a skilled combatant.  "I came seeking a means to gather wealth so I could find the man who had killed my family."  Volsh made a step forward as though making a standard forward lunge, then switched his feet and converted to a spinning sweep.  He then hopped back, so Bruenor would have to move forward to re-engage.  "So far it seems we have a made a good start, but I am not sure this is enough.  The bastard has an army, and I have yet to find him."


Action: Attack
Then 5 ft step back

Attack hit AC 18
Damage 10 non-lethal
08:48, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 16,6 using 1d20,1d8.  Attack +6 Damage +4 (-4 to be non-lethal).

Armor Class:     18
Touch:           10
Flat-Footed:     18

Tikki-Ta holds up her own small hands, clad in smooth, black, leather-looking gloves.  "Depending on what dragon you get to donate their skin, can be even flexible enough for my lights!  I gots three pairs, made of wyrmling black dragon wing-skin.  Cost me twenty gold for each pair, but can you blame the leatherworker?  Bit more for you, big-hands.  Got mine from Leatherworker's Guild in Albon, but the Guild here should be talented enough, if they have the skins for it," she says proudly.

---

Sir Aberlayne watches Bruenor and Volsh spar in the training grounds outside the Guildhall, resting her chin on her crossed arms on the lower crossbar of the fence that keeps observers at bay.  Both men are strong, in different ways, Volsh with a wilder style, Bruenor more from the sword-dancers of the cities.  Yet both were competing to fight for their lives.  She smiled; an adventurer was, in some ways, little different than any other Guildmember, trading their skill for coin, but an adventurer risked their lives far more often, for far more random a reward.

She waited until the two men had come to a halt, then waved to get their attention.  "I had a chance to investigate some of the jobs.  I looked into the lights over Fen on the Fen, talked to Ethrain, their representative.  The town's north of Skord's Swamp, and know a thing or ten about marsh gases, so it's definitely no natural thing.  I talked to Narthian and he agrees.  What could be taking or driving away the cats or dogs is a bit of a mystery.  A hungry beast would take whatever it could find, not take all the cats first, so perhaps whatever-it-is is intelligent.  There's been little evidence, blood or carcasses, and the townsfolk are getting scared.  They're offering healing herbs, enchanted wode, even potions.  Their small god, the Stone Tree, told them to send for help, so they're looking high and low for someone to fit their bill.

"Also spoke to Fernheart, the druid wanting someone to fetch her an owlbear egg.  The lady knows her stuff, spent hours talking to Narthain, but she's also older than my grandmother's grandmother and can't be gallivanting across all and sundry.  She said she could easily train a good warhound or warhorse, or even a hunting hawk for us, if we steal an egg.

"Finally, I took a close look at that job in Deepwater, the one with an unknown beast running around?  Seems like just after they got that chuul out of their well, something else started prowling around.  They think they might have some enemy, maybe an angry wizard or druid, but swear up and down they haven't exiled anyone from town or offered insult to any strangers, so they don't know where this might be coming from.  The Deepwater town council is offering free provisioning, some hard coin, and travel on their rafts along the river up to two weeks' journey away," she says.

Bruenor dodges to the side, but not quick enough to avoid the sweeping flat of the spearhead...grunting as it smashes into his side, thinking, ‘That’ll leave a bruise.’  Recovering quickly, he says, "With righteousness comes strength, friend. I fear for the army that crossed you." 

He nods his head as he shuffles his feet a bit, giving his longsword a sweep in the air.  With the reach of the spear, and Volsh's strength, he knows he needs to get in closer...stepping forward, closing the distance between them.  He braces for the barbarians counterattack, and tries to throw his weight towards Volsh attempting to get the big man off balance and trip him.

Should he succeed in tripping the large warrior, he brings the flat of his longsword down on the prone man.

Move: next to Volsh
Action: attempt to trip Volsh, and melee attack if successful (Improved Trip feat)

1d20+5 = 10 unarmed attack for trip (touch attack hits AC 10)
1d20+7 = 24 trip attempt vs Volsh Str or Dex check
1d20+6-4 = 20 attack (non-lethal), if trip successful (hits AC 20)
1d8+3 = 7 dmg (non-lethal)

16:41, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 10,24,20,7 using 1d20+5,1d20+7,1d20+2,1d8+3.  Trip attempt & attack, non-lethal dmg.

Bruenor's AC:18, Touch:10, Flat-footed:16
This message was last edited by the player at 07:06, Mon 21 Sept 2015.

As Bruenor moved in, Volsh swung the butt end of the spear up, but the fighter side-stepped avoiding the attack, and got his leg in behind Volsh's forward leg.  With his now superior leverage he brought the bigger man off balance, and Volsh hit the ground with a grunt as the air was pushed from his lungs.  Volsh grit his teeth, as he was in a very poor position.  He knew he could not avoid giving Bruenor another chance to strike, but he could not stay where he was, and expect to have a chance.  He rolled away from Bruenor, then stood, waiting for the man to close again.  He gave Bruenor a nod of approval, as his tactic was well executed, and quite effective.

OOC: You get an AoO as my roll is actually a crawl.  No kip up yet. :)

Move: Crawl 5 ft
Move: Stand

20:45, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 3,2 using 1d20,1d8 with rolls of 3,2.  AoO  +6 Damage +4 (-4 to be non-lethal).

20:46, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 18 using 1d20 with rolls of 18.  STR vs Trip  +3.

AC 18
T  10
FF 18
HP 18/25

Bruenor allows a barely visible grin to show as he manages to bring the big man to the ground.  While he used to hate all the swordplay and fencing lessons as a child, now he’s glad that his training did not focus solely on brute strength.

As Volsh tries to roll away, he takes advantage of the opportunity to try to bring the flat of his blade down on the prone warrior…

1d20+6-4 = 10 vs AC 14
17:57, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 10,10 using 1d20+6-4,1d8+3.  AoO non-lethal vs AC14 (-4 prone).

The barbarian is too quick, and rolls away from his jab.  Bruenor raises an eyebrow as the clever barbarian manages to quickly stand up without taking any further hits…forcing him to step close to engage once again.

He raises his longsword and takes a 5-foot step to close the distance…trying to avoid an opportunistic attack from the dangerous looking spear…and brings his sword down in a diagonal slash across his body - just missing Volsh's chain shirt and whoosing through the air.

AoO from Volsh incoming

1d20+6-4 = 12 vs AC 18
18:01, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 12,11 using 1d20+6-4,1d8+3.  Attack vs AC18.

AC 18
T 10
FF 16
HP 11/21

Averdante smiles at Tikki-Ta's obvious satisfaction with her gloves. If she provided the hide from which they were made, then she certainly had every right to be proud of both acquiring the hide, and the use to which it had been put. Besides, lacking any barbs, the pixie's delight is infectious. She reminds him of a rose -- attractive and prickly all at once.

"Then I'll look into what the local guild has. I suspect I'd be more likely to provide a dragon with a hide than the other way round, right now, but perhaps someone else left them with extra material."

Rising, he offers her a bow. "My thanks for sharing your time and wisdom, Tikki-Ta. Your words may keep me alive down the road, and I appreciate it. If there's ever anything I can do in return, please let me know."

Volsh was surprised that he managed to escape that fiasco unscathed, and gave Breunor a grim smile.  In battle, sometimes a little luck was needed, and it seemed that Volsh had gained a little just now.  For now his best move was to press the attack and try to end the fight, so he brought the blade of the spear across laterally, forcing Breunor to either parry or move back to avoid the strike.  Breunor parried, forcing the spear to arc over him as he ducked under it.  Volsh then stepped back, continuing to create distance between them, trying to use the longer reach of his spear to its full advantage.

AC 18 T 10 FF 18
HP 18/25

Attack AC 12 Miss

14:54, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 10,7 using 1d20,1d8 with rolls of 10,7.  Attack +6 Damage +4 (-4 to be non-lethal).

Bruenor follows Volsh, step for step, knowing if he allows the separation between them, the big warrior will have an advantage with his spear.

He takes a 5-foot step towards Volsh, and brings the flat of his blade in an uppercut – aiming for the man’s torso.  The barbarian deflects the strike with little effort, knocking Bruenor slightly off balance, hoping to avoid any follow up sweep with the spear.

1d20+6-4 = 3 vs AC 18

12:25, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 3,8 using 1d20+6-4,1d8+3.  Attack vs AC18.

AC 18
T 10
FF 16
HP 11/21

"You catch anything different and don't get yourself killed with it, save some and drop it off back here for me.  Otherwise, getting yourself not dead is good thanks."  Tikki-Ta spears herself another morsel of cheese and adds, "Dunno if they have dragonhide now, but if you're feeling ambitious and they don't have what you want...  You saw that job for caravan guards along the Dead River?  Dead River leads to Skord's Swamp, right?  Old Skord is not for anyone but a holy Whiteguard or a boatload of battle-hardened paladins to fight, but he's got more wild oats than some farms I could name.  And some of them are vicious and not too bright.  Just saying."  She flexes her glove-covered hands and grins.  Her teeth are... rather sharp.

---

Out in the courtyard, Bruenor and Volsh are testing their skills with sword, spear, and new armor.  Sir Aberlayne watches them keenly as they exchange a flurry of blows that scores not particularly hard on either, both men keen to dodge.  "If your blade can't find them, trip 'em first!  Easier to hit when they're down," she calls, eyes on the fight.

Laughing, Averdante agrees. "I'll remember that!" Particularly about Skord's Swamp -- it sounds like a place to be carefully avoided. "Again, thank you." And with one last bow, he leaves the pixie to her snacking. Maybe bougainvillea instead of rose....

He looks around to see if Narthian is around, and if so, if he's interested in going to Catha Highstrung's shop. If he's elsewhere, Averdante will head out into the town on his own, taking the arrowheads and his new bow. If the fletcher doesn't have bowstrings, he'll still know who does.

And then he'll see what the clothier's has. He's not really looking for anything too fancy -- no need for it, after all -- but something comfortable, in good fabric and pleasing colors. Recalling Master Steelhead's remark about a peacock makes him smile. That, Averdante wasn't; it was too much work to stay stylish, with little reward gained from it. He mostly wants the comfort that comes with good quality fabrics, and the good craftsmanship that usually comes with good fabric. Doesn't hurt to look good, after all, even if not following local fashion trends.

Which may, ulitimately, lead him to the tailor, but maybe not today.

Narthian is indeed around, having spent his time talking to a few representatives from different jobs, but perks up when Averdante mentions going to Catha Highstrung's shop.  The two can leave to make their requests.

Volsh followed his parry with a feint, spinning the spear deceptively,. then sweeping low, but Breunor had anticipated the moved and hopped the sweeping spearhead with practiced agility.

AC 18 T 10 FF 18
HP 18/25

Attack AC 15 Miss

12:07, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 13,3 using 1d20,1d8 with rolls of 13,3.  Attack +6 Damage +4 (-4 to be non-lethal).

Bruenor casts a sideways glance at Sir Aberlayne, flashing her a brief smile at her suggestion.  He says to Volsh, "You're a stout warrior, friend...I shall be glad when I'm fighting beside you and not against you."

That being said, he takes a step towards Volsh, and rather than leading with his sword again, goes back to trying to ‘even the playing field’…attempting to get a leg behind the big man’s and bring him to the ground.

He gets his leg in the right spot, and leans in, testing his balance against that of Volsh...he can feel his leverage is not ideal, but perhaps it's just enough to tip the big man over...

15 unarmed touch attack for trip vs AC 10
12 trip attempt vs Volsh Str or Dex check

14:56, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 15,12,9,7 using 1d20+5,1d20+7,1d20+2,1d8+3.  Trip attempt & attack, non-lethal dmg.

AC 18 / T 10 / FF 16
HP 11/21

While everyone watches the two fighters, Dellas approaches the Adventurers guild with Vish running in front of him. The commotion of course catches his attention and he quietly walks next to his sister watching the fighters, Vish climbs up on him and sits himself on his shoulder. "Well, it does look like fun... if you want to make yourself dirty" he adds with a grin. "I finished my little shopping trip and feel like doing something, have you heard anything interesting about the different job offers we saw?" Dellas nods along when she tells him what she learned "I'd like to investigate these mysterious lights, I had some time to think about them and feel intrigued."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:44, Fri 02 Oct 2015.

Volsh knew what was coming as Breunor stepped in, and shifted his stance slightly.  Then as Breunor tried to leverage him, he stepped with his other foot, so Breunor's leg gave him nothing to push against.  Volsh smiled, both because of his successful defense against the maneuver, and at Breunor's words.  He put the butt of the spear into the ground and offered his hand to his companion, and laughed heartily.  "As are you my friend.  I think together we make a formidable pair.  I believe we have practiced enough for today.  This is thirsty work, so let's find a drink and the others and see if they have decided on what work we shall take on next."


15:34, Today: Volsh son of Vor rolled 14 using 1d20.  STR vs Trip  +3.
Check = 17 vs 12.

After investigation and shopping and sparring, the group can settle down for a nice evening's meal.  There's chicken stew with spices, beans and herbs baked together with roasted root vegetables, bread, and tea or ale to wash it down.  (For those who've chosen to pay extra dues, one could get wine, roast pork, baked apples with honey, or spiced fried mushrooms instead.)

Sir Aberlayne reiterates what she and Narthian found out about some of the jobs on the board today, gesturing in between bits of apple and chicken stew.

Volsh took a chug of his ale, then belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  "So which pays the best?"

Eating a bowl of spiced fried mushrooms with bread he listens while he eats and just shakes his head when the big guy asked about the money.
"I, for one, am interested in the lights. Though I have to be honest that I have no idea to what it could be... Though I advise to go there quickly, if it works its way up from cats to dogs, what will come next? Pigs and children? We'd probably get more somewhere else but helping these poor people and their god might help us in the future." He looks and waits for the others while sipping on his wine.

"Depends.  Deepwater is offering only seventy-five gold, but also two weeks' provisions and two weeks' worth of travel on their rafts.  They charge a silver per mile, otherwise.  The druid Fernheart, the one wanting the ownbear egg, is offering to train a beast for us.  A trained warhorse can be worth over three hundred gold to the right buyer, a trained hound about a hundred, and we may be able to bargain for, say, a matched set of hounds if we're clever.  Fen-on-the-Fen is offering healing herbs and potions, and enchanted wode.  You all know the prices for those from the temples and the Brotherhood, so that's a high prize to be won, even if it isn't in coin.  Also Fen-on-the-Fen has a small god in residence, and the favor from one of those is a prize in and of itself.  Not to mention any Guild member in good standing also almost always gets salvage rights for anything else found while taking on our task.  We got quite a bit from the goblins that didn't belong to Boltharrow," Sir Aberlayne explains.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:46, Tue 13 Oct 2015.

"I'm curious about the lights, too. Clearly whatever it is, is escalating things." Money wasn't a great concern to him at the moment, which made it a good time to indulge his curiosity. "Acquiring healing aids would be of considerable benefit in the long-term," he adds, slicing another strip from his roasted pork. "Not to mention, it's rarely a bad thing to please a deity, however small."

After a good sparring session in the yard with Volsh, Bruenor makes a point to wash up and then visit Master Steelhead to put 704gp on bank with the Guild, keeping 20gp on his person.

He joins the others in the main hall, and sits down to a bowl of stew and crusty bread.  The hot meal goes down well, of course followed by a decent ale.  It wasn't the fine food of his father's house, but he was on his own, and beholden to no one.

"Fighting corporeal creatures is a bit more comfortable to me...with wisps and spirits and the like, well, we'd better be prepared for some magic."  He inflects the last word almost as if it's a dirty one.  While he was developing an appreciation for the magic users amongst their group, it was hard to erase years of prejudice and conditioning.

"That being said, I am with you wherever we go next."

Sir Aberlayne shrugs.  "The lights could be spirits, true, but could also be something else.  Maybe an illusion.  Maybe something practicing some other sort of trickery.  But the pay seems good and practical.  Is that the job everyone wants?  If so, I can find Ethrain, the man from Fen-on-the-Fen, and let him know we'll be taking it.  I'll admit, I favor this job because it helps a whole town," she says.

Dellas shovels the last of the mushrooms into his mouth and washes them down with some wine. "Then it's settled, we'll do the mysterious lights job and see if we can find out what happened to the cats and dogs." He takes the last pieces of bread and soaks them up in some of the left over sauce of the mushroom dish. Then he turns towards Bruenor "If it make you feel better, I've magic and know how to use it well. I've bought some scrolls to help all of us and I'm sure if you make yourself small enough that you can hide behind me." He added the last part with a big grin.

Volsh really was not sure what was the best thing to do, but in his mind gold was the motivating factor.  "I am not good with the numbers, but it seems tome that gold is better than goods unless you have urgent need of the goods or services.  Is there the potential for other booty to be recovered in any of these missions?  Our take from the crypt was quite bountiful and this may prove more profitable than the payment itself."  Perhaps he sounded mercenary, but that was the gist of this was it not?   Service for payment?

"It's possible that whoever is behind the lights and disappearances has more wealth on him than not.  Fen-on-the-Fen is on one of the tributaries of the Dead River, and there might be lizardfolk or kobolds around.  They like shiny objects.  I can't swear to it, but if there are any thieves, we'll get to balance the scales.  'Course, there's also favor from the Stone Tree, and a small god's favor isn't a small thing," Sir Aberlayne says.

"The proposed pay from the last job wasn't in gold, either," Averdante reminds Volsh. "Nor was it enough to make us all rich. But in dispatching the goblins for Boltharrow, we discovered the tomb -- which as you observe, was quite profitable for us all.

"What's to say that we won't discover something in dealing with the fen lights that will likewise yield us a sizable profit?" He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. "Even if that doesn't happen, the obvious chances for greater profit often mean greater hazard. The healing agents we'd acquire in the fen would be of considerable benefit to have available, then."

He's curious about the lights, and their escalating predations indicate something that should be dealt with before it becomes even more dangerous. Besides, as the barbarian had pointed out, he'd just made a nice profit, so had no pressing need to repeat that immediately. A little generosity of his time and skills to aid those less fortunate seemed a good repayment to the favor of Ehlonna -- and Pelor -- for surviving that tomb.

"So are we agreed then to check into these lights?"  It seemed no matter what they did the ultimate payoff was questionable, but this seemed to have the best potential upside.

Bruenor nods his assent as he sets his tankard of ale down on the table.

"When do we leave?", he asks, before realising it will hardly take him any time at all to be ready to leave.  Such is the vagrant life of an adventurer, he thinks to himself, smiling at the ease with which he refers to himself as an adventurer now.  It wasn't long ago he was still in his father's 'court', accomplishing nothing for himself.

Well, that was behind him now.

"I talked to Ethrain, from Fen-on-the-Fen, and he'd like us there yesterday, if not sooner.  So as soon as we're ready to travel, he'll be glad to guide us.  I'll tell Master Steelhead we're taking the job so no one can snipe it from under us," Sir Aberlayne says.  With that she'll go talk to Master Steelhead at the desk briefly.  He nods, and within a minute, a tall, gaunt man with brown-and-gray hair, dark green eyes, and hollow cheeks returns with her to your table.  He is wearing tunic and trews of loose, light woven cloth, dyed olive green and tan, with sandals made of what seems to be lizard hide laced tight to his feet.  His hair is bound in a tight club at the back of his neck, and he just has an eating knife in his belt.  He wears several bead necklaces of what seem to be seeds, and a bracelet of polished green stones.

"Gentlemen, Ethrain, representative and Elder of Fen-on-the-Fen.  Ethrain, Narthian and Thunder, partners in nature's wrath, Volsh son of Vor, wrath of his people channeled through his blade, Bruenor, skilled and adaptable bladesman, Haazheel Thorn and Mystique, arcane bastion, Lantamori, the clever-handed, Averdante, death with the bow, Farian Raymellie, Pelor's own, and my brother Dellas and his familiar Vish, fire wizard," Sir Aberlayne says in introduction.

Ethrian nods to everyone, clasping his hands together.  You can see the back of his left hand is tattooed with what seems to be a stylized tree.

"My thanks on behalf of my village for coming to see to our problem.  The Stone Tree said I must persist, and his advice is never wrong," he says, his voice thin as the rest of him.  He carefully removes a scroll case, removing and unfurling a contract scroll, similar to what you signed when taking the Boltharrow job to show the Guild you had accepted a contract.  "I hope I can answer any questions you have quickly so we can begin to travel, for I do not know how much longer it will be before whatever the lights are move on to larger prey."

Seeing him makes Dellas wonnder about humans... and life... and Magic... Not really paying attention he nods with a half-smile when he hears his name and tries to pay attention.
"Well maybe we can get on with it and ask more questions on the way, if time is of the essence. As far as I understand, nobody knows what it is and even if it has any connection with each other." He rubs his chin "Well, there are the usual 5 W questions... What happened, Where did it happen, When did it happen, Who is involved or who did it and why... though the last two questions are probably ours to answer..."

"Perhaps we should gather all the details now," Averdante suggests, "then go early to bed and leave at dawn." They've been up all day, traveling from Boltharrow and then running errands here in town. He sees no point to spending the night traveling, only to arrive tired from being up from dawn to dawn, and with villagers expecting them to go right to work. "This seems like a situation which will require us to be alert to find subtle clues, and going into it fatigued won't help us succeed."

Looking at Ethrain, he asks, "When the animals disappeared, was it all of the cats at once, or did some disappear one night, then more the next, and so on, until all were gone? And did the dogs disappear in the same manner?"

Upon getting the answer to that, he questions, "And how much time passed between when the cats were all gone, to when the dogs disappeared? How much time has passed since the dogs vanished?"

The manner of it, and the timing of it, could give them a time frame in which to anticipate the next round of predations would begin.

Ethrain nods quickly.  "Morning is well enough.  It's a three-day journey to my village, and I was afraid my trip here would be all for nothing...  Ah, let me tell you what I know.  We're on a wetland that empties into a river that eventually goes to the Dead River.  We have all manner of marsh creatures about, and we've seen will-'o-wisps many times before.  We've learned to avoid those who are aggressive, ignoring their tricks, and generally they keep to easier prey.  But going on a month back now, we saw some new lights over the Fen.  Smaller, faster, different colors than wisps, or even baby wisps.  They never came very close to the village, at least most of the time.  A few times people, kids mostly, saw them darting through the streets at the darkest hours.  We might of said it was just their imaginations, but some of the elders saw them to when they propped their eyes open long enough.  I was one of them - no wisp I ever saw.

"But nothing seemed to come of it.  Then the cats started going missing.  Trella Hawthorne's good ginger mouser, Withern Gash's elderly old one-eared tom, my niece Bay's little half-grown calico.  Cats go missing - there's crocodiles and feral dogs and reed wolves and giant bugs, sometimes lizardfolk gone astray.  But it wasn't just three cats, soon all of them were gone.  No blood, no pawprints, no nothing.  Just gone.  ...Funny thing was, the grain didn't go missing much more than normal, and we realized the rats and mice were already gone afore the cats.  I went to post a message to get someone to look into it, just in case it got a taste for more than cats.  And no one would take the job.  I went back home to get advice, maybe raise a little more in the way of reward, and now the dogs are gone too!  Same thing, over a couple days, all gone.  No matter if kept in or even tied up, gone, just gone.  And the lights just dancing, dancing all the time, dancing in the streets at night like they're laughing at us...

"I go to speak to the Stone Tree, and he tells me to go back to stay, that someone would come.  And he was right.  Always is," Ethrain says.  It's clear this is upsetting to him, and as he speaks, he gestures eloquently with his hands, his bracelets clacking softly.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 19:39, Thu 29 Oct 2015.

Dellas listens attentively, even Vish seems to be deep in thought while sitting on his Dellas' shoulder. He nodded and turned towards Averdante. I agree that we should be well rested, but I feel it in my bones that time is of the essence. After around six or seven days it started to move up to dogs, if we assume that it takes around a week for it... or them, to deal with the cats or dogs then maybe we can prevent more harm from being done when we arrive in the evening. The lights seem to move at night mostly.

Bruenor sits quietly and runs a hand over the hilt of his sword while the Ethrain speaks; feeling the intricate gold work.  Sleep sounded good, and an early start.

This whole story was perplexing...what in the gods would these mysterious lights want with all the rats, cats and dogs?  They certainly weren't good eating.

Yes, he'd rather arrive when the sun was coming up...not going down.  Have a bit of time to scout out this place in the light of day.

Volsh greeted Ethrain and listened to his tale.  It was beyond bizarre.  He could think of no creature that hunted rats, and cats and dogs, aside from the usual predators, but they always left some trace, whether it be blood or fur, or something that spoke to the violence that had occurred.  Most certainly none had dancing lights, and so he thought that this was clearly something stranger than your typical predator.  He wondered if it was a predator at all.

On the upside there were lizard folk, and he might get to test himself against these humanoids.  They were purported to be fierce fighters.

"Do you have horses?  I know Sir Aberlayne does, and I believed she mentioned her brother did too, but what about the rest of you?  We could get back home faster if that's so!" Ethrain says.

Averdante shakes his head at Ethrain's question. "No horses," he answers. He wasn't sure hiring or buying them for the trip was a good idea, either; they might end up eaten by those dancing lights if they couldn't identify and get rid of them quickly enough.

"Has anyone taken aggressive action toward these lights?" he asks Ethrain. "Shot an arrow at one, maybe? Or a sling stone? Did it react?"

After listening to the answer, Dante glances over at Farian, asking, "Do these lights sound like any kind of an undead trait to you?"

He really hoped not. He'd had enough of undead for a good while.

"We could rent them from the stables if we must... the rest of the Elders would allow me that.  Ah, about the lights.  At first we did not bother them at all.  Will 'o wisps want to lure victims in, and if you don't fall for their tricks, they'll turn their attention to easier prey.  So we ignored them at first.  Then the cats started to go missing, and we realized the rats had already gone.  Our hunters tried to sling stones and fire arrows at them when they could hit them at all.  The lights are cursed fast, and dodge them like wary hummingbirds.  One man managed to hit one, once, and it seemed to eat the slingstone.  We tried to keep our guards up, locking up what cats remained, not going out after dark, but the disappearances kept happening.  That's when we sent out our first message.  Then this week I get a message about the dogs going missing too, and I was ready to cart off the first adventurers I could get to listen to me when you came up to me," Ethrain said, his bracelets clacking as he uses his hands to illustrate his story with gestures.

Dellas looks at the floor and pets Vish while the others talk. After hearing more about the lights he speaks loudly to himself.
"Well, maybe it was just a light spell? For a distraction maybe... Celestial creatures can cast this spell... but they wouldn't..."
He looks up and notices that he spoke out loud. "Eh, well I mean.. what if it's a spell? Someone trying to distract the good people to gather all the rats, cats and dogs? Celestial creatures wouldn't want to steal dogs and cats, demons work with darkness spells so probably not them either.
Maybe the Fey? A Pixie or Dryad perhaps? Some of them like to play tricks on humans."

Narthian nods thoughtfully at Dellas' comment.

"That's certainly a possibility.  Their love for trickery is legendary.  Do you have many fey in the Fen?" he asks.  "Any local legends or ghost stories?"

"Hmm...  There are legends that may be of the sort.  Pixies and grigs... well, the stories paint them as tricksters and sometimes pilferers, but we don't see many around here.  Nixies, though, we see them from time to time.  Dryads, I've seen in the Fen.  We've never offered them any harm, but we do know they're out there.  There's supposed to be a pool of pure water in the middle of the Fen where the nixies live, and if you can make your way there and pass their tests, you can ask a boon of them.  Not many try to go that deep in, though.  There are more things that live in the Fen than just fey, and some are just hungry.  Alligators to bite your legs, stirges to suck your blood, giant beetles big enough to bite your arm off!  We collect dyestuffs from the fungus of the Fen, but we do it carefully," Ethrain says.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:26, Fri 06 Nov 2015.

Volsh did not think it likely they would figure this out by talking about it.  They would need to see what was happening first hand.  Playing tricks and pilfering a few things was different from making all the rats, cats and dogs disappear.  Even if it was something malevolent, that was an odd set of animals to take.  None were all that good to eat, and in most cases too small for something large and dangerous.  On the upside rats were pesky disease carrying vermin so perhaps there was a bright side in that regard.

"Even if those creatures were playing tricks, taking the rats, and cats and dogs doesn't seem like that good of a trick.  I mean getting rid of the rats is actually kind of helpful.  And from what you've said they are not being killed, so they have to be going somewhere...right?"  The answer as to where that might be, was of course not easily determined.

Looking at Volsh he nods "Of course, it could be something different, maybe..." He stops for a moment and looks into the distance "Well, there had been rumors that some people tried to use blood to enhance their magical abilities." Looking back at Volsh and adding with a grin "Or someone really likes animals"

Bruenor laughs out loud at Dellas's last comment.

"Bah ha ha!...a wispy, magical being with an animal fetish...I can just see some creature's wildwood home overrun with hundreds of pets...rats, cats & dogs crawling around everywhere.  The dogs chasing the cats...the cats trying to eat the rats...the culprit will be so distracted we can march right up on them, I imagine.  Would that it were so, magician!"

He's not sure why he found Dellas's last comment so funny...  His laugh fades, as he finishes off his tankard of ale, and resumes listening...his eyes still showing a hint of mirth.

Eyeing the amused swordsman, Averdante suspected they'd be more likely to find the lights' lair by the boneyard around it. And that would be the better option; having a swarm of possessed animals sent to attack them didn't bear thinking about. Especially not if they were undead remains....

Regardless, it sounded time to call it a night. "Shall we meed down here at dawn, then, or earlier?"

Ethrain nods solemnly.  "We've tried to figure out where they might be going, checking every good hiding places in our hunting grounds, even leaving food out for the cats.  One of our hunters even rigged a live trap... but only caught a hungry lizard.  We are more worried for what these mean in the long run, particularly now that the dogs have gone missing as well.  But I am not sure who or what is keeping them, at least without a struggle.  Margara's tabbies are a cantankerous lot, and Old Jass' hunting dogs don't answer to any hand but their master."



Ethrian shudders slightly at such a gruesome fate for his village's animals as blood sacrifice.  "I certainly hope the situation is the latter, and not the former."



"And I certainly hope this is some true-life rendition of the old Magical Piper tale.  A humorous ending to these lights and disappearances would be an embarrassing, but welcome ending to this mystery," Ethrian says.



"A good plan!" Ethrain says heartily.  "I will rent horses from the stables and meet you at dawn.  The beasts will need light to see."

Once everyone has made their mark on the paper, proving they have taken the job for Fen-on-the-Fen, Ethrain will leave the paper with the Master Steelhead, bow to you, and depart.

For the rest of the evening, you can relax, prepare, rearrange your packs, chat with fellow adventurers, or get any last-minute goods you think you'll need.  The night passes fairly quietly, with several rounds of the popular adventurer game, "Top THAT Story!" which involves a combination of tale-telling and exaggerated bragging.  A bard plays some quiet music on a lute later, when things have moved to quieter pastimes of conversation and card games.

In the early morning, you can all rise, bathe yourself if you wish, and claim a breakfast of oatmeal, sliced fresh plums and strawberries, hot bread, butter, honey, and fried ham, washed down by small beer, cider, or tea.

Ethrain will meet you outside, and then soon you're on the road to Fen-on-the-Fen.

OOC:  Please move to the "On the Road to Fen-on-the-Fen" thread.

A week further since you had come back from Bolthaven and the Adventurer’s Guildhall of Redhaven has a new clientele, as always.  At a table beneath a taxidermied ankheg head, two heavily-muscled orcs, one with a red-dyed topknot and usual warrior scarification, the other in robes and heavily tattooed, are devouring a roast chicken each.  Between them, a fox seems to be perusing a tome, nosing pages aside and occasionally pointing a paw at something and nudging the robed one.  He’ll grunt in acknowledgement or shake his head, and the fox will continue on.  The warrior just continues to munch on steadily.

Near the middle, a human woman in form-fitting scarlet leather is talking with a gnome, garbed in blue and with an elaborate hairstyle piled so high with sticks and colored silk thread that it nearly doubled her height.  A halfling man leaning back with his feet on the table nods gravely during the conversation, occasionally spinning a dagger between his fingers, returning it to its sheath and pulling it out again.

An ageless elf woman in rough homespun is lounging against what at first seems to be a large sofa made of fur.  After a minute, you realize she’s actually leaning against a snoozing brown bear, sorting out a huge bunch of cut plants into various piles on the floor in front of her.  Valia, the serving woman for the Guildhall, she of the remarkably collection of daggers, drops off a bowl of water for the bear and a mug for the elf before sailing off back behind the bar.

A dwarf woman with an elaborate tabard, a half-elf man with floor-length blond hair, and the gnome Gimble the Glib from the Redhaven gates are having an animated conversation by the fire, laughing uproariously at some joke as you enter.

There's a scent of roasted chicken, savory roasted root vegetables, and beer in the air.

There are a couple additions to the décor: a new taxidermied head of a chuul, and a crushed gauntlet with a big blue candle in its grasp on the nearest table.  At the back, Master Steelhead catches your arrival and waits for you to come to him, writing something down in a large ledger before sanding the page and putting his pen aside.

“Ah, still not dead, I see.  Good.  You’ll be making Blackwarden fairly soon.  Maybe even now, depending on what I hear went down over in the swamp.  Got yer chit?””

Sir Aberlayne produces the Fen-on-the-Fen chit, now stamped with Eldest Kine’s symbol to indicate a job well done.  Master Steelhead takes it with a grunt of satisfaction.

“Good, good.  Now spin me the tale of what was going on down there,” he said, pen poised above the page of another ledger.

---

Those wanting to examine the ever-present job boards can head over to peruse the newest offerings while others tell Master Steelhead exactly what went down in Fen-on-the-Fen.

Jobs

















Services













Bonds











There are also the usual crop of religious "advertisements", extolling the virtues to be found or fostered in various temples, including the usual ones for Pelor (healing), Boccob (magical knowledge), and Olidamarra (loot).  The ones that were there last time haven't changed, but there's a newer one also posted.








This message was last edited by the GM at 08:45, Sun 14 May 2017.

Dellas strangely feels right at home, as if this is the only home he ever knew and the people are all part of his big family... well extended family and cousins around many corners.
The chicken and root scent almost pulled him directly towards the kitchen and only master Steelhead's voice holds him back. He watches his sis and tries to remember that he'll probably have to think about stuff like this in the future.
His train of thoughts was interrupted by master Steelhead asking what happened and Dellas was happy to oblige

"Great master Steelhead, you might remember my name? I am Dellas and these are my companions. The trip to Fen on the Fen was relaxing as not much of importance happened. Near Fen-on-the-Fen we first went to see the Stone tree... a god mostly looking after the village... it was strange and familiar at the same time... She is a huge tree.. and talk in us... in our heads. We learned that these lights also took their tamed alligators and a boy, Bralton Fescue, went missing and a Jemma Darali went looking for the boy an hour before we arrived.
Now there was not a minute to lose! We set the villagers to check their pallisade and to stay indoors while our good Thunder followed the children's scense.

Following Thunder we reached a swampy area where my Vish found Jenna sitting in a tree, hiding from the "tame" alligators that obviously turned crazy! We fought like.. like.. well like an army of 100 men, my own attacks were rather successful.. at least until the giant alligator appeared and we all had to help to defeat that thing.
The funny thing was that while fighting it, Volsh felt that it was weird... so we cut it open and wouldn't you believe it? Inside were Kobolds, steering that thing as if it were a carriage. They attacked us but some of my fire magic made short work with them.
There were also weird colorful lights... reminded me of the dancing light spell... anyway, these light blobs seem to protect the Kobolds, who suddenly sprouted wings, and only one escaped.. I think..
We continued our way into a grove where we found nothing important and continued to a valley of sorts and encountered a mushroom field.. it was unpleasent to say the least.
There were giant plants that ate Kobolds and would probably have been happy to chomp on a Halfling or two but this was nothing compared to what followed.
We met with Bralton... the boy who obviously had been charmed to carry the will of a second god.. a crow god to the people of Fen-on-the-Fen. Now we were surrounded by the god in front of us and giant people eating plants behind us... of course the best solution was to talk the crow god down. We did it and could bring the boy back to his parents.
Now I had the idea that the boy might be a trap! I checked him and tadaa... I was right. The boy was supposed to use some magic gourd to.. charm his parents and the other villagers to pray to the Crow god. But we saw through it, talked the villagers out of joining that cult until the crow god iself arrived.
We slung every spell and shot every arrow at it until it flew away.
Averdante himself shot the last arrow that hurt it.
With the children safe, we had a short rest there and then started to deal with this crow god.
We went to the Stone tree first and got a riddle as answer.. luckily some party members solved it and we were finally on our way to help these people more then we were supposed to.
In another... valley we saw Kobold warrens and something silvery... like a second moon with silver strands running over the edge, touching down on the ground.
Lantamori and Volsh went up while the rest stayed down on the ground.. luckily for we were attacked by giant beetles, a short fight ensured  and my magic again helped quite a bit and we prevailed.
Lantamori and Volsh talked... just talked to the god and it left.
I went up after the others came down and got this feather."

Dellas shows the golden feather he got from the crow god

"Together with others we also cleared the Kobold warren.. to protect the people from future dangers and encountered an invisible Halfing eating Mushroom! An Phantom Fungus! We defeated that one and took our share from the treasure we found in the Kobold warren.... then we went back to Fen-on-the-Fen and shortly later we arrived here."

His face showed several expressions, mostly happiness and pride, sometimes concern or sadness even.. they still don't know what happened to the poor dogs. But in the end he smiles again and now he looks with a big grin on his face at master steelhead.

“You lot wounded and then talked down a small god?!” he exclaims at the end, after seeing Dellas’ golden feather as proof.  “Mordain’s Blessed Axe you do know how to pick ‘em.  Aye, this’ll classify you lot as Blackwardens.  And how.”  He scratched Dellas story into the ledger as he spoke, the pen occasionally seeming to move on its own as Dellas' spoke more quickly during the particularly exciting parts.  After a few minutes, Master Steelhead finishes, though he looks to anyone else in the party to clarify, if they wish.

“You lot, if you’re going to stay together, and it seems you work well enough to do so, then you’ll need a group name.  Makes it easier for people to ask for you or find you for jobs if you have something snappy to title yourselves,” he says.  "Not as many new to the job and the Guild that move up so quickly, but...  It has been known to happen from time to time.  I'd recommend naming yourself before someone comes along and does it for you."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:46, Tue 18 Apr 2017.

Narthian half listens to Dellas's recounting while pursuing the job board. "The first three seem viable, he says to whoever is near. "Although the specific mention of familiars and companions in this job makes me... cautious."

"Why would that make you cautious?" Lantamori asked regarding Narthian's comment about the caravan job.  She seemed distracted by the services posting of the tailor.

"I think it just means that animal friends make good lookouts and scouts."

She turned her attention back to the listings that Narthian had mentioned.

"The guy with the gargoyles probably just needs to keep his windows shut.  Stuff keeps flying in.

"How far away is Albion?  There are two that go there.  Do you think we could do both of them at once?"

Bruenor listens to Dellas' recounting of their adventure with a mug in his hand, having picked it up somewhere between the door and Master Steelhead's table.  He nods with a grin on his face, enjoying the halfling's enthusiasm whilst telling the tale.

"It happened as the halfling says," Bruenor chimes in.  "Everyone contributed in their own way... From the front and the rear, with equal will and strength."  He had to admit, he was enjoying being part of something meaningful, and not simply existing - surrounded by fine trappings and ever competing with his sister for their father's approval.  He felt like he was finally doing something worthwhile.

"It is the fact that it is called out specifically," Narthian replies to Lantamori. "Normal animals can be trained to serve just as well in guarding and scouting as our special companions, yet they do not call for kennel masters or falconers. If we choose to take that job, we should be wary, or members of our pack could be in danger."

"As for a team name, I like The Wolves of Low'verok." He smiles broadly, knowing his suggestion to be biased and not likely to pass a vote.

"That makes us sound like bandits," Lantamori replied in her singsong voice, not looking away from the listings.  "Perhaps something less aggressive.  Not every job needs to be chewed up.

"It would be nice if we could make it a symbol as well.  Something to carry or wear that folks could recognize."

Dellas smiles broadly, Vish seems to be infected by it too and runs up and down Dellas' arm. He looks at his sister and then at the others before "A name? Maybe The blazing suns... or sun? It would show the light we bring to dark places and our wrath to all that cower in the shadows."
Dellas starts to daydream a little before shaking himself awake. Turning to master steelhead he asks "Blackwarden... so is there a ceremony or do we just get the pins and a pat on the back?" Before he could start to daydream again another thought crossed his mind "How about my sister? Will she get something for talking and hurting a small god?" Looking at her he remembers that she joined the guild some time before him.

Hearing Dellas say his name in the halfing's rapid monologue, Dante's attention returns to that. He can't help an amused smile as the story is wrapped up. Should he add anything? No. It sounded far more exciting the way the little fire wizard told it.

Master Steelhead's comments that they'll rise in rank to Blackwardens is welcome news. A name for their group, though... that would certainly be fuel for the dinner conversation tonight.

First, though, he waits for the halfling to finish with the guildhall master, then approaches the counter. "Greetings, Master Steelhead. I am looking forward to cleaning the dirt and smell of the road away before anything else. Is there a private room and a bath available?"

Naming themselves seemed somewhat pretentious to Volsh.  He was not all that interested in fame...he would take the fortune...but fame sounded like more of a hassle than it was worth.  Volsh was thinking that if he was to avenge his people, it might actually be best to not bring attention to himself.  His enemy might act against him before he was ready, and then his chance for vengeance would be lost.

"What does it mean to be a Black Warden?"

"Naming can be so difficult," Narthian says to Lantamori. "What if we change 'Wolves' with 'Guardians'? The Guardians of Low'Verok?"

Bruenor half-listens to each of the conversations going on around him, and looks at Narthian at the druid's latest comment.  While he's making a concerted effort of late to reign in his abrasive, sarcastic nature, it still rears its head now and again.

He raises and eyebrow and blurts out, "Guardians of Low'Verok?  That's a bit grand, eh?  We make Black Warden, and now we're the guardians for the whole of Low'Verok?"

Even as the words leave his mouth, he realizes how curt he must sound to his companions, he quickly follows up, "Forgive me, Narthian.  I mean only that we should let our deeds lead to such titles...perhaps not bestow them upon ourselves."

"No offense taken, Bruenor. It does seem a bit like the tail wagging the dog," Narthian says agreeably. "However, it will mean that we don't have to rename ourselves once we achieve that status." He gives a mischievous grin.

Master Steelhead chuckled slightly at the cornucopia of names.  "Well, no need to be giving me an answer tonight.  You don't have to have one, but it's easier on all, particularly when it comes to contracts."



"'Tis a good notion.  Adventurers all wearing the same symbol are not easily mistaken for brigands," Master Steelhead nods.



"Little enough in the way of ceremony.  A gold for your new badge so we can sent out the books to be updated.  Some have a feast for the occasion at one of the inns, other go to a temple for a blessing.  'Tis up to you how you wish to celebrate your rank."  Master Steelhead smiles.  "'Twas a set of fighters once that challenged the Temple of Kord to a drinking and wrestling contest when they rose to the rank of Ironguard.  The Temple talks about it to this day."

"As for me," Sir Aberlayne says, thumping Dellas lightly on the back.  "I am slated to be an Ironguard myself, nay, Master Steelhead?"

He nods as she passes over a small beltpouch.

"I'll have your new badges ready by tomorrow evening."

Sir Aberlayne nods.  "And I will spend the night in prayer at Yondalla's shrine.  The goddess has blessed me with more than luck and rank and a fine little brother, she has entrusted me with a special charge, and I seek her wisdom."



Master Steelhead turns to the next question.  "Bath yes, five silver.  Valia has the key.  Private room..."  He peruses yet another volume, and taps under one line.  "Not too many available.  Scholar's Room is in use, Shield Room, Forest Room, Fire Room, Garden Room..."  He trails off for a moment, moving his maimed hand, the one with three fingers, to slide down a list.  "Just one private room left, Wagon Room.  We're a bit full up at the moment.  Dormitory space still available though.  Two gold for the room, if you like."



Master Steelhead turns to Volsh.  "Everyone who sends a contract to the Guild, seeking our aid, lays out what they're willing to pay for various ranks, if they have the funds available.  Blackwarden rates are higher than those of Redbadges, because the Guild has judged those of higher rank able to take on threats faster and with more success.  And some jobs are only available if you are of a certain rank.  We had a job here last week, asking for caravan guards in orc territory, but only for Blackwarden on up.  If someone thinks their job is likely to be very tough, they'll request a certain rank.  Those jobs tend to pay very well indeed, if be inclined to be tough."

Dellas listens and jumps a little after hearing Master Steelhead promoting his sister too but his happy laugh is quickly turned into a mischivious smirk "Praying? Don't want to hang around with us anymore, Ironguard?" He looks at averdante and nods "I think all of us could use a good bath and something good to eat. How about we meet in about an hour back here and celebrate a little? I will need my beauty sleep of course but tomorrow we can sell and split our... earnings."

"Wagon Room it is, then," Averdante agrees, passing over the gold and silver for the room and the bath, as well as the gold for the new badge.

Turning, he tells the others with a smile, "I'll see you all later -- when I'm presentable again." And with that, heads off to stow his gear and see to cleaning himself up.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:51, Mon 24 Apr 2017.

Narthian produces a gold coin for his badge, which is pocketed with a shrug. Wolves know the pack hierarchy without such displays.

Lantamori hands over a gold for the badge and one for the night.  She then leaves to get cleaned up and some sleep.

Master Steelhead accepts gold from everyone before they scatter.  "I'll have the badges in the morning.  Valia!  Some of them want a little victory feast," he calls to his server.  Valia waves in acknowledgement as she sails across the bar with mugs of ales for the pair of orcs.



"There's naught left but space in the barracks, youngling, and for your first night that is free, and the bathhouse is only five silver.  I can add the other five silver to your account, if you think you'll be here for a few days though," Master Steelhead tells her kindly.



Adventurer's Guildhalls tend to be very eclectic places, being as they are often the repositories of whatever is too big to sell or to difficult to find a buyer for.  As such, the tenders of the Guildhalls use whatever they are given with creativity, which can mean that the private rooms are often... interesting.  The Wagon Room has a bed made from wagon, with the wheels providing the top of a table, a shelf by the bed, and a double-decker wooden chandelier lit with continual flames.  The ceiling is swathed in the bow-top ribs and canvas, and the walls painted to look like rolling plains and sunlit sky.  A few old saddlebags are attached to the bed, and some reins trail off to a framed painting of a herd of horses on the wall.  The blankets on the bed seem to smell of sunwarmed grasses, though you're not quite certain how.

----

The bathhouse has a fresh tang in the air, something piney on the rolls of steam that waft pass.  There are several smaller tubs, and a closed-in sauna, with a boiler for hot water fed by a little fire elemental that will happily devour the sticks of wood pushed into the grate below.  The pine scent is both from the wood as well as the soap that is provided.

---

Those taking rooms in the barracks find them as usual, decent cots with thick blankets, a wooden chest at the foot that you can secure yourself (by lock, familiar, animal companion, believing in the honesty of others, threats, booby traps, whatever suits you).

Sir Aberlayne will bid Dellas good night, and head out to her temple, as will Farian.  Haazheel, however, will stay and come down to dinner, occasionally yawning in fatigue.

Back in the Guildhall proper, those that chose a late-night feast over getting to bed early can find a table next to the elf woman and her bear.  Valia bustles over as you settle in.

"A celebration's in order, I heard?  We've got a couple roasted chickens left, roasted parsnips and carrots, beetroot salad, and honeyed apple pie.  East River ale for the light ale, Hammerfoot Jane for the dark.  Apple cider, blueberry-and-pear cordial, spring water for others," she says briskly.  "Sounds like you all had quite the week!"

Narthian accepts the spring water and split most of a chicken between himself and Thunder. They both top it off with a shared slice of pie. "It was beyond any of my previous experiences," he says to Valia honestly. "And I am glad that in the end, the crow-god need not be destroyed. I pray that it has learned its lesson and takes an example from the Stonetree, who is a marvelously wonderful spirit."

Dellas too pays his gold for the badge and takes a bath first. A little later he walks down with clean clothes and a big smile on his face "Abby is busy praying, we can get busy celebrating! The apple cider, roasted chicken and apple pie sounds great and yes wehad quite an adventure. Though I'm not sure if we could have actually... destroyed it. Maybe I should ask my big sis but to destroy a god.. this should take some special effort!"

Lantamori accepts Master Steelhead's offer to bank the difference and stay in the barracks.  If she didn't fall asleep after getting cleaned up, she might think about grabbing something to eat, but she was already leaning toward sleep.

Volsh jut out his lower lip and nodded.  Being a Blackwarden seemed a rank worthy of trying to achieve.  It might even help him with his personal goals.  "Thank you."

"Is there a place where bards, and other travelers with news congregate?  I seek some news and I am guessing these might be the people who would know."

Valia considers Volsh's question.  "Some of the adventurers here might know a fair amount, and you've got a good tale to trade for information.  Traders favor the Empress' Law inn, traveling peddlers like the Full Cup, but most bards like the Wild Angel.  There's also the Trader's Guildhall proper, but that's more a place for member business.  If there are adventurers who aren't staying here, Heart's Haven is a place to find respectable ones, Blood Axe the not-so-respectable," she says, setting down the last of the pies and drinks on the table.

Volsh thanked Vaila for the information, and made his way to the Wild Angel.

Bruenor paid Master Steelhead a gold coin, and a bit for a spot in the barracks and a bath.  He doesn't take long cleaning up and stowing his new armor in his lockbox, and quickly returns to the hall.

He greets his companions warmly as he sits down to a warm meal and a drink of whatever comes out first.  He has nowhere else to be, and no personal agenda...the experience of the experience...is all he's after.

Now, with a moment to reflect on all that transpired in the past few days, he allows himself a grin...and a moment to enjoy their small victory.  "A good tale is right," he agrees with Valia.  "Just wait til sister and father hear it."

He quickly realizes his last comment may have sounded petty and immature, and a sullen look slips briefly across his face.  It doesn't last long, though.

"Now then...another drink and some pie here, too!"  Then to Dellas, "We came pretty darn close, fiery one...eh?"

Dellas was stuffing his mouth with chicken when Bruenor's question brought him back "What?" he swallows and drinks some of his cider "Oh, yes... the invisible mushroom took a nasty bite out of me but in all it was rather successful. We saved the boy, the girl and the village while the others convinced a god to think about his approach." He takes a small bite from his chicken and continues "I would say that's a success." He looks at Bruenor carefully "So you finally have decided that magic users aren't demons in disguise? It took you long to talk to me... or if I remember correctly to even look at me without making a grimace,"

Having ate his fill, Narthian takes to inspecting his arrows as he listens to the others, insuring that the heads are well fixed and the fletchings straight and clean. Thunder finds a dirty patch on the floor and rolls in it with vigor before curling up at Nathian's feet, warily eye-balling the various other patrons. "Every pack bonds over the hunt," he says flatly to Dellas and Bruenor without looking up from his task.

After taking a moment to expore his rather interesting room, Averdante sheds his armor and other gear there, gathers his clean clothes, and heads out to wash up.

A short while later, clean and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, he heads back to the common room for food. Seeing the others, he drops into a chair at the table. "Have you made any progress on coming up with name?" he asks. Giving Dellas a grin, he adds, "Something that doesn't make us sound like torch-waving madmen, perhaps?" He gives Narthian a nod. "Something to do with being hunters might work."

When Valia next passes near, he'll ask her for a good serving of dinner, but with a good wine rather than ale or cider.

"Well, let's not be hasty," he says with a grin.  "It still makes me nervous every time you get that gleam in your eye, and flames start sprouting from your fingers.  But, yes, I suppose you're not all demons in disguise after all."

He claps the halfling on the back as he raises his tankard and says the last bit.

Dellas has to keep his mouth shut or else the clap would have send the cider in his mouth flying. He laughs "Well, some are demons in disguise... but don't worry, you'll know it."
He nods at Averdante and laughs again "Well, hunting is not my area of epxertise, that's why I was suggeting something more... with the sun related. Maybe we should name ourselves Might and Magic? It would describe all of us."

"Well, we wouldn't want to be too non-specific.  I mean, don't most adventuring groups have both might and magic?  And we're pretty diverse.  And big!  That's sort of a selling point with some jobs, isn't it?  Something like... the Incandescent Leafblade Company!  We've got magic and mention of nature and martial stuff, all in one!" Haazheel says, feeding a few bits of chicken to Mystique.

Dellas nods "I could agree to that... though it's a mouthful to pronounce and write for most people." He clearly is imagining something and smiles "Well, we could make sure that only the rich or learned hire us."
Dellas emtpies his mug and stands up "I will have to take my leave... anyway we still have some time to think about it."
With that he turns around and leaves, finding his bed and sleeps early.

The halfling's notion that he isn't a hunter makes Averdante laugh, but he simply raises his wine glass in a silent toast to Dellas. Not everything that was hunted was alive, nor was every hunter after a kill at the end.

At Haazheel's suggestion, Dante finishes chewing his last bite before saying, "I'm inclined to agree with Dellas on that being rather a mouthful -- although 'Leafblade Company' has a pleasant balance to it." He wondered if that would lead people to expect it to be a primarily elven group, but dismisses the concern. There are three elves among their company, after all.

However, as the halfling had observed, they didn't have to come to any decisions tonight, and half their group had yet to weigh in on the matter.

Like his fellow elf, Narthian felt a certain familiarity with the Leafblade Company part of the name. Perhaps not as much as Averdante, though. The druids of his conclave all feel the pull of a totem during their indoctrination. Some to certain trees, or flowers, or other flora. These would likely enjoy such a title immensely. Others of the conclave, though, are drawn to fauna, to horses, or the hart ... or the mighty wolf pack. "Perhaps the gods will reveal their name for us at some point," he says, looking up from his task. "Although we risk it coming from one of the jokster deities, and thus end up with the name 'Steve'." He looks at Dellas and grins, "Or Dellas."

Haazheel snorts with laughter at Narthian's comments, making Mystique look at him in disdain.  "'And lo, vile villan, I have asked the mighty adventuring party, "Steve's Success Squad" to end your reign of evil!'  Well, that'd make us memorable, but maybe only as the subject of comic ballads.  I'm glad some of you like the name I suggested, but I'm not wedded to it if someone has a more brilliant idea."

"I have one more, serious, suggestion before I retire for the night," Narthian says, placing his pristine arrows back into their quiver. "The Order of the Golden Crow, or the Gold Feather. In honor of the small god we helped and the gift he left us." He looks his companions in the eye one by one. "We could commission clock pins fashioned in the likeness of that feather as our token."

Bruenor, leaning back in his chair after finishing his meal and enjoying what's left of his ale, had been quite content to let the discussion about a name go on around him.  He looks up at Narthian now, though.

"I shan't like to align ourselves with that crow, no matter how he went out in the end...  I reckon you lot might've been on to something with that 'Leafblade Company'.  'Course we're not all elf folk.  Hmm..."

He adopts a pensive look, but it's likely not clear whether he's actually thinking about anything, or just staring at the ceiling.

As the group is eating and conversing, the elf woman with the bear finishes up her sorting of plants, binds each, and puts them away in a satchel.  She rises to her feet and pats the bear's head.  He continues to lounge on the floor as the elf woman makes her way to the table.

"I saw you looking at the potential jobs.  Is there anything you're thinking of taking?  I'd rather not get in a bidding war."  She pressed her hand to her chest.  "Althenaria Yllsandrine, nature's champion.  Damphos has graciously been my sofa for the evening," she says, gesturing back at the bear.

"Pleased to meet you, Althenaria. I am Narthian Goldleaf, and my partner Thunder, who is not big enough to also be my sofa." He smiles and extends a hand to his fellow elf (and likely, druid). "We have not discussed our next task in any great detail. And our team is of many minds of which would be better." Narthian shrugs slightly, the friendly smile transforming into a mischievous grin. "I think if you catch us at breakfast tomorrow, we will have it narrowed down to a top 8 by then."

Note: there are 8 jobs (by my count) currently posted.

"Oh, narrow it down so far?  We're still debating, Damphos and I.  Gargoyles are quite a thing, but if the man's been subjected to hippogriffs too, well.  Maybe we'd be walking into a feud.  Or not.  Some people just have terrible luck.  We'll see what the stones have for me in the morning.  I heard you had some luck a bit east.  What news comes from the Fen?" Althenaria asks.

"Would you like to have a seat while we talk, Althenaria? Perhaps a glass of wine?" Averdante asks the woman, a little surprised Narthian hadn't immediately extended the offer of at least a seat; given how she introduced herself, she was probably another druid. And either of them could easily afford to buy the lady a glass of wine.

"I'm Averdante." Indicating the rest of their companions present, he names them off in turn, "This is Bruenor, and Haazheel." Looking back at the woman, he tells her, "The Fen was an interesting job. There was a small god poaching in another's territory, although apparently done more in ignorance than true hostility."

"I am also intrigued by the gargoyles, although I would have rather dealt with the hippogriffs. They are magnificent beasts and great hunters." Narthian makes room at the table as per Averdante's suggestion. "And, unlike gargoyles, can be trained as a mount. That would be a welcome reward in itself." Given Althenaria's companion, Narthian judges she must be of some experience, unless her companion is a lycan - in which case she may not be a druid at all. "I wonder, would you give us your assessment of the Caravan Guard job, the one that calls out for animal companions and familiars? Has Damphos the Sofa an opinion on it?"

Althenaria takes the proferred seat.  As she moves, you can see a sickle at her side, and her belt seemingly made of leaves has small tendrils that grip it in place, along with her belt pouch, eating knife, and fighting dagger.

"I'll decline the wine, with thanks.  I'm working on some delicate business in the morning, and need to start purifying myself," she says with a friendly nod.  Listening to Averdante's story, she raises her eyebrows in interest.

"Arguments between small gods are always complicated, frequently messy, and usually fraught with peril.  A curse of a small god can ruin your life.  Lucky are you to have managed to contain it," she says.



Althenaria nods.  "Gargoyles can be dealt with, but rarely without violence.  They're smart enough to listen to words, but usually too cruel to break off their hostilities unless you can prove you are far too strong for them to attack.  Fierce intimidation with a show of seemingly overwhelming force is probably the fastest way to get rid of them, though not always the most thorough.  I believe I overheard Vulug and Durz say they were interested," she says, nodding to the two orcs who were finishing picking apart their respective chickens, along with the help of their fox companion, "because they tend to like jobs that require a lot of direct action."  She gives a small shrug.  "Now, it's possible that this Yrad fellow may want a larger group, but he sounds like he's beyond being picky at this point.  But as to the caravan guard job...  There could be a few reasons.  The caravan master or the patron of the caravan might be a former adventurer themself and know how valuable trained and bonded beasts are.  They may have hired adventurers before and seen them in action.  They might be fond of animals and appreciate their keen senses."  She looks back at Damphos, who opens his eyes, snorts, and closes them again.  "Damphos has no particular opinion, other than the fact that two-leggers generally have terrible senses of smell and anyone who wants to know where danger is would be better served by having someone with a better nose on their side."

She taps one hand on the table.  "There might be a sinister reason, of course.  Kidnapping one's animal companion or familiar has been a way to blackmail a magician or nature warden into unsavory acts before.  But whoever has been enacting such a scheme would have to be mighty bold to advertise their job here.  If they did something to deliberately lead a Guild member into an ambush, well, they become a free target themselves, don't they?"  She smiles briefly in a way that resembles Thunder in a bad mood, then relaxes again.

"Your group is fairly big.  Quill's job may end up suiting you more than anyone else here, simply because all of you are likely to have the skills he wanted.  Or Uthar Von Drachel pays exceptionally well, if you don't mind dealing with nobles.  He's a baron, though he never lists it.  His jobs are always odd, but he never stints.  I once had a job with him where I worked as his gamekeeper for a whole moon to root out a poacher who was smuggling out unicorn hides.  Not at all easy, but I did get the bastard, and the hunters too in the end.  But as big as Damphos is, I'm not the group he wants this time around."  She looks over at the job board for a long minute.

"I believe I am more likely to go for Thala's job.  If it's live cargo that needs moving, it's likely some rare beast.  And I am very good with that."

Narthian has a new respect for his fellow druid. "Your insight in invaluable to me," he says to Althenaria. "Deyna's job no longer concerns me as much as it did. Quill's job has intrigued some of our party. Others seemed interested in checking into pairing Thala's with Xyllici's. Both bound for Albion, after all." He gives Thunder a pat. "About the only job that I am opposed to is the Baron's. It does strike me as a role suited to hunters like Thunder and me."

"The only trick with Thala's and Xyllici's that getting live cargo to Albon and getting someone to Albon quickly, depending on the cargo in question, could mean mutually exclusive routes.  If one were transporting a rare pair of birds to the druid circle in Albon and didn't want them stolen by the unscrupulous, then you might go a hidden or circuitous route, which wouldn't serve the impatient passenger of Xyllici's job at all."  Althenaria gives a bit of a shrug.  "Which all depends on what Thala is transporting.  As for the Baron, he's not a bad sort.  Very concerned for his lands, which you wouldn't think to look at him.  He might be trying to guard some hidden aspect of his domain without tipping his hand by using his own guards.  He could have used his own gamekeeper to go after that hide smuggler I mentioned, but instead he misdirected attention to another part of his lands and left the field open for me to hunt in return without interference.  You could ask about that job or any other before taking it, though.  There's no sense in either your or your patron being an ill fit for each other."

"My thanks to you, Althenaria. I will share your wisdom with my companions. I hope that it will make our decision easier."

Bruenor picks at his fingernails with his knife, as half-listens to the elves chatting.  Truth be told, he didn't really care what they did next.  Anything was fine...all part of the adventure.  He wasn't on some sort of personal mission, like Volsh or some of the others.  Just experiencing life away from his family's estate.

Not being used to associating with druids, he can't help but keep glancing at the large bear in the corner.

His head starts nodding, and he realizes how tired he must be from the day's activities, and from the ale.  He pushes back from the table and stands up, sheathing his knife, and says, "Goodnight to you all...I think I must turn in now."

"Breakfast on the morrow?" he adds, with an eyebrow cocked.

He'll wait to see what the others say, and then head to the barracks to find a bunk.

[DRAFT.
I hope this post starts to bring me up to speed. I've a description of Haazheel version III done.]

Haaheel's quarterstff leans against the table. The inside of one knee and a crook of his arm hold it steady so Mystique, an [European Eagle] Owl, over two feet high, nearly nine pounds, can roost atop one end. The Diviner looks around the table at:

Averdante, the elven archer, a good companion whose alert eyes help Haazheel feel safe.

Bruenor, willing to face danger, a man better as a friend than foe. Haazheel considers teasing him, but decides that simple acceptance and reliance would serve be better - for both of them.

Dellas, with whom Haazheel should compare spellbook entries. The Diviner reminds himself that the two of them should confer each day to coordinate who will cast what spells when etc. He smiles as he recalls how Mystique and Vish worked out their differences rabbit hunting.

Lantamori, who looks so innocent when asleep. When she's with one's possessions are safe; but, if otherwise, when she's near one, one had best guard all one has.

Narthian, a druid Haazheel should make sure to quiz about the animals and plants they encounter while in the wild. He notes how Narthian's and Averdante's eyes seem to coordinate - as one scans one way, the other scans the other way...thus all surroundings are under survey.

A thought strikes the young Diviner,  and he asks Narthian, "Ehlonna and Obad-Hai, are They ever able to work together? They must have common foes. You may have a tale to tell about that."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:08, Fri 19 May 2017.

"I like to think that all living things can find common ground," Narthian replies to Haazheel. "But I cannot speak at length on the ways of the gods, even the ones who overlook nature as their domain." Narthian shrugs. "In my conclave we draw our power from natural things, but not any particular god. I honor the pantheon of my people, as advocates of our way of life, but have not made a study of any theology." He looks around the room quickly. "If Farian were here, he would, no doubt, have an answer to your question."

Haazheel nods. "If I remember, I'll ask him. I pray to Boccob, but wish He'd pay some attention to evil's harm." The Diviner shrugs. "So I pray to Others also, Pelor for instance."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 01:09, Fri 19 May 2017.

"The sun god is popular among humans," Narthian agrees.

"The sun shines on all," Haazheel observes. "Well, maybe not on those who live underground or lie hidden until it's dark. And there's the need of rain too. Good air, ground, light, life, warmth, and water."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 13:52, Sat 20 May 2017.

Going slightly back in time. Sorry Bruenor!

"Yes breakfast tomorrow! Then we resume the hunt for our next job!"

Back to the now.
"I think that Mystique agrees with the good air," Narthian says to Haazheel, observing and smiling at the great owl. "But perhaps not so much the light. Owls are such fantastic night hunters. ," he says. "The motto of the Hunter's Convocation, the followers of Solonor Thelandira, the elven god of the hunt."

"Your insight is enlightening and greatly appreciated," Averdante tells Althenaria, impressed with both her evaluations and information. He'll consider it in more depth tomorrow, after he's actually looked at the board. "I think we can leave Thala's job to you and still be assured of finding something well suited to us," he adds with a smile, recalling that she'd mentioned a desire to not cross offers with them.

When Bruenor rises to leave, Dante nods agreement to the fighter's question, and smothers a yawn of his own. The relaxation of a good meal capping a long day has made itself felt. He drains the last of his wine, then reaches up to stroke Preet lying draped over his shoulders.  "I think I will follow Bruenor's lead and bid you all a good night, as well." To Althenaria he adds, "Thank you for sharing. Whenever you're ready for that glass of wine, let me know. I'd be interested in hearing how you brought down the smuggler."

Haazheel replies

Narthian laughs at Haazheel's addition to the phrase. "Almost certainly true! You should suggest it be added if we ever meet a cleric of The Keen Eye."

A human adding to elven wisdom? You pay me a great compliment.

Narthian cocks his head to the side, looking at Haazheel. "Perhaps," he says simply without expanding.

"Thank you again, Althenaria, for your kindness. If you will excuse me, the night air calls." Narthian bows slightly to the other druid and Haazheel, then heads for the door. Thunder is soon on his feet and following. Elf and wolf exit into the night to explore the town more fully, and perhaps find some out of the way, rent free place to rest.

The night passes peacefully for those at the Guildhall, though perhaps with those in the barracks room stuffing their ears with wax when snoring from one or more fellow guild members starts up.

Narthian can find a park at one end of town that also serves as the shrines to Obad-Hai, Ehlonna, and Crellon Larethian.  Though it costs no money for those who feel easier about sleeping under an open sky to stay there, they are expected to tend to the health of the plants and animals, keep the park clean and healthy, and tend to the shrines to pay their way.  Not surprisingly, Althenaria and Damphos are both there.

--

In the morning at the Guildhall, the two orcs and their fox companion are up early, eating breakfast that seems to consist of a dozen eggs each and a bowl of porridge that would be considered a bucket in any other place.  No one else is in the common room at the moment, but Sir Aberlayne opens the door soon after, smiling.

"Hail and good morrow, my friends.  'Tis a lovely day to be alive," she says with unusual cheer, parking herself in a halfling-sized chair and looking expectantly at the others.  "My sense as a big sister has me thinking I will be needing to sell of what we're not going to be using today.  Dellas is by far the greater magician, but I was always the better haggler of the two of us."

Narthian gladly lends his skills to the tending of the park, taking time to consult with the regular clergy about their wishes for the place.

He joins the others for breakfast at the guild hall, sharing the words and wisdom from Althenaria with the others. "Our needs are few," he says, referring to himself and Thunder. "So we will join Sir Aberlayne on her task. As for the next job, I am now favoring the Deyna and Quill offers."


Referenced jobs:

Caravan guards needed for trip to southern coast estate.  Two-week trip.  Payment in coin.  Familiars or animal companions in party a plus.  Contact Caravan Master Deyna.

Need a group with the following qualities (collectively):  Fluent in Draconic, able to climb, good shot, brave in the face of seemingly overwhelming odds, excellent reflexes, good with children.  Cooking talent a plus.  Payment in spells.  Contact Quill.

Dellas went to bed early and today got up early. He jumps from one of the arm chairs and greets his big sis and Narthian "I know! She doesn't look like someone who can convince people without a mace but she's a silver tongue." He gives her a sly grin before sitting with Narthian "Abby and I shall sell the trinkets and other things we don't need and get some coins... do you want to join?"

Haazheel joins the group and breakfasts. Wen he sees the job openings, he remarks Both have their appeal; the lower one is...unusual, acting as nannies perhaps? But what sort of children in what sort of circumstances? A powerful mage, maybe? Anyway, I speak Draconic and I'm a passable cook. I confess, though, that I'm braver in the face of overwhelming odds, when the odds are on my side. And "payment in spells" seems cheapskate in a way.

He does, if it's alright, go with those buying and selling.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:53, Wed 24 May 2017.

"I'd prefer the caravan over children," Lantamori added as she joined the tail end of the conversation and sat down.

"There's a good chance that nothing will go wrong with a caravan, but something always goes wrong when dealing with children.

"After breakfast I'm headed over to the smith to see about commissioning a chain shirt.  If anyone wants anything from Ironheart, I could ask while I'm there if he has it and how much."

"Yes, if you don't mind the company."

Bruenor walks into the hall, stretching and yawning, and drops onto a bench near the others.  He must not have realized how much these latest adventures taxed him...he needed a bit of sleep.  Well-rested now, he greets the others.

"Good morning, all! What adventure awaits us next?"

He glances around the room, hoping to place a breakfast order...his stomach rumbling.

"A dreadfully exciting day of haggling, probably followed by shopping.  Not exactly freeing a village from the threats of an ambitious small god, but one does what one must.  There is an antiquities place that will likely take the cloth of gold crown and some of the other art objects.  I know they like to sell them to the rich and noble in the larger cities to decorate their homes.  And what doesn't sell..." Sir Aberlayne waves her hands at the eclectic decor of the Guildhall, "Ends up here for free.  Every Guildhall worth their register hasn't had to pay for a stick of furniture or most other incidentals.  The Guildhall in Port Lyalee's entire building is built from donated loot."

Sir Aberlayne looks around and finally spots the stack of bowls on a table next to the fireplace.  In it, porridge is bubbling away.  She goes to spoon out a bowl, topping it with some fruit before returning and popping a spoonful into her mouth.

"Yum.  Anyways, Feld's Antiquities is where we're going to sell most of the arty things.  Hopefully he'll be open by the time we finish eating."

While there is no one in the common room serving, on the table by the fireplace, in addition to bowls and the porridge over the coals, there are hard-boiled eggs, bread, and fruit, along with small spigoted barrels of water, small ale, and what smells like berry juice.

Dellas put his hand on his sister's shoulder and with his other arm he slowly waves it in front of her "Just think about all the gold you can donate to the temple." clapping her softly on the shoulder he adss "Finish up and we can go.." Looking at Haazheel and Narthian he smiles "Of course, let's start our shopping and selling day today."

After helping himself to some of the porridge, eggs, and fruit, Averdante brings his breakfast to the table and joins the others. "I must agree with Lantamori where children are concerned. The pair in the Fen were quite enough trouble, and the notion of dealing with such like when confronting overwhelming odds does not entice me."

He had his own errand to run this morning, and suspected four people going along to convert their goods into coin was probably close to becoming a crowd that would hinder the process more than help. Although, perhaps after he'd changed, he might explore the antiquities shop on his own. He rather wondered what humans might consider an antique.

Sir Aberlayne tosses down the rest of her porridge efficiently, and pushes back from the table.  "All right, I'm going to clean up, meet those who are going just outside, and let's get the day started!"

OOC:  Those out and about please move to the "Redhaven - A soldier's town" thread.

After a day spent around town, selling what wasn't needed and buying what was, the group can return to the Guildhall common room later that day.  There's a smell of stew in the air, porridge and fresh bread too.  The pair of orcs are back, their fox companion on the table between them as they argue over a large communal bowl of stew, waving chucks of bread in the air for emphasis while they talk.

Gimble the Glib's group isn't in evidence, nor is Althenaria and Damphos.  But the woman in red leather, the gnome with the dangerously tall hairdo, and the halfling with a fondness for knives are back, all sitting at a table nearer the job board, all in intense conversation.

It looks like Thala's job (transporting live cargo to Albon) and Rellos Farmer's job (investigating a cave that opened up in a field) have both been taken off the board, while a new job has been added:



The serving woman Valia is not in evidence, but a human woman with a motherly aspect and ample curves (along with an axe scar along with side of her head) is wiping down a table and nods cheerfully to you all.

Dellas arrives a bit later then the others and looks for Haazheel "If we have time, maybe we can exchange some spells tomorrow? I'm interested in your magic Missile spell." He looks at the others "Do we have a day for the magical gifted to exchange notes or would you prefer to take the next job? I've noticed that some of the jobs we saw yesterday are already taken."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:32, Wed 21 June 2017.

"Well, we probably should if you wizardly sorts want to exchange magic.  Remember that time you tried to copy a spell on mule-back from that ice wizard and ended up freezing your boots on your feet by mistake?  I don't want to see that again," Abby says, grinning.  "Those of us not working with otherworldly forces can perhaps investigate some of the other jobs.  We're eight Blackguards and an Ironguard, so we can command some good prices.  That caravan job, for example, we might be able to field just with ourselves.  And with an exclusive contract, we might be able to swing a few more perks.  Usually on a caravan job being fed is part of the deal, but you never know if you're going to get the same slop day-in and day-out.  We could make some requests about food or accommodations, along with our fee in coin or goods.  There's a bit of leeway available, if you know the right questions to ask."

Farian comes in soon afterward, a small smile on his face.  He places several bottles on the table, at least one for each person.  They're all glass bottles marked with Pelor's sun symbol, full of faintly shimmering liquid, like sunlit water.

"Holy water, just in case we run into anything else like we did in Bolthaven.  I thought that would all do us some good," he says in greeting.  "I had some rather enlightening conversations at the temple, too.  I was trying to understand more about the crow and where it or its power may have gone.  Suffice to say, there are some scholarly scrolls that speak of the places where gods live, and the home of the small gods is... chaotic, as each one covers so small a sphere.  Us bringing the crow down won't have any religious curses coming down on our heads, you'll all be happy to hear."

Lantamori picked up her bottle of holy water and wondered what it tasted like.  She ignored the thought and stuffed it into pocket.  She'd put it in her pack when she got around to it.

"Let's check in with the caravan and see when it's leaving," Lantamori suggested.  "That will let us know how much time you may have to swap spells."

Haazheel squares his shoulders. Yes, Dellas, let's. He turns to the others. This will take several days, more maybe...it's tiring and exacting.

"The caravan job sounds fine," Narthian says. "Thunder and I are ready to get back out into the open spaces."

"Let's look into that caravan job," Averdante agrees. "I'd like to do a bit more traveling -- but if we have the weight to insist the food on offer is decently edible, I'm in favor of starting there." He looks at the paladin and adds, "I'd like to come along and listen." It'd be best if he didn't say too much; he seemed to offend some people at times.

Dellas looks at Farian and the holy water "Thanks and yes, it's good to hear that we won't be cursed for all eternity. Did you learn something about a god's personal items or belongings? We still have the feather..." Dellas puts the holy water on his belt "Seems like everyone wants to do the caravan job. Alright, quickly ask when they'll leave so Haazheel and I know when we have to finish.

Volsh returned to the guildhall and collected his share of the loot.  He looked at the others, and was pondering Brildeben's words.  Was it right to bring them into his problems?  They were all good companions, but truth be told he was not sure that vengeance was something they would find palatable.  It was not their village, or families that had been slaughtered.  This was not a good cause per se, they would be saving no one, perhaps they would put an end to an evil, but not for the sake of goodness.  Of course, he would never know if he did not ask.

"I have perhaps an alternative to propose.  It would involve a journey, but the only payoff is whatever gold I can offer.  I need to travel to Fort Cross to find a soldier there named Harken Luden.  He may have some information about those who destroyed my village."

"A hunt then?" Narthian says to Volsh with a grin. "I am guessing that the caravan may be going to Port Layalee, the timing seems right for that distance. If it does, we should pass through Fort Cross."

Haazheel looks at Volsh and then around. "Friendship and justice weigh more than gold...yes, maybe we can combine the two possibilities."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 09:20, Sun 25 June 2017.

With surprise Dellas looks at the giant of a man, with his muscles and magical weapon and armor it seems unlikely that he would need help of someone small and weak like Dellas... though he guesses that Volsh needs Dellas' magic more than his body.
"Well, we would probably be very lucky if the Caravan leads us there, a strange coincidence indeed. Maybe there is another way to make money? My research needs gold, nonetheless I'll come with you but how about Abby?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:31, Sun 25 June 2017.

"Let's find out where the caravan goes," Lantamori said as she stood up.  "I don't suppose we all need to go.  I'll see if Master Steelhead knows where someone can contact the caravan master."

The elf proceeded to find said proprietor and propose her question.

Those interested can go talk to Master Steelhead about the caravan job.  He peruses the description and nods.  "I'll send one of the boys for Master Deyna.  Fairly certain she's at the Trader's Guildhall down the road, so sit a while and she'll be along."

It takes about an hour when a halfling woman arrives at the Adventurer's Guildhall.  Barely three feet high and wearing exquisitely-tailored and impeccably neat traveling leathers, she looks to be of early middle age for a halfling.  Her light brown hair is cut quite short, and she wears a short sword and dagger that look well-used and cared-for.  Her eyes are bright green, and she wears emerald earbobs, at least three in each ear.

She hops onto a seat at your table and regards you all frankly.  "Master Deyna.  So, you're the Company with No Name.  Master Steelhead said you're up-and-coming and have tackled some interesting jobs so far.  This will hopefully be less... original foes, but there will likely be more of them.  I had hoped to leave in three days, and this will likely take, at minimum, two weeks, barring weather or needing to pause to heal or reprovision.  I'm going south on a shortcut from Redhaven to Stone Bridge, dropping off a load at Fort Cross, picking up some things there, then heading south to Port Lyalee on the trade road.  Once we get there, we can negotiate further for another trip, seeing how things have gone.  I can offer you provisions all the way, shelter in the wagons in bad weather, and three hundred gold apiece, a quarter now, quarter at Fort Cross, the remainder at Port Lyalee.  I expect you to guard the caravan against all foes, enemies, raiders, bandits, beasts, and thieves, mount watches at all hours, kill or drive away foes if need be.  I'll expect you to lend a hand at getting our wagons or mounts out of tight spots on the road, if necessary, and help in patching people or animals up if anyone gets sick or injured.  I have an herbalist and sawbones in my crew, but Master Steelhead said you have a Peloran priest, so he's far better than my healer.  Do we have a deal?"

Master Deyna cocks her head, inviting discussion, or a counteroffer.

[I think Dellas and Haazheel are busy.]

"Pleased to meet you, Master Deyna. You're ad specified animal companions and familiars. Thunder and I are curious if you have a special purpose for them?" The wolf's ears perk up as if eagerly awaiting the response.

Dellas smiles a big smile and hops off the chair "Wonderful, it's nice to meet you but my esteemed colleague and I have business to attend to for the next few days." He gives a courtesy bow before leading Haazheel to a safe practice area where they can exchange spells. Vish just looks bored and hides in Dellas' long robe sleeves.

Finding out where the caravan was going sounded like a good start to Averdante. Aiding one of his companions was all well and good, but there seemed to be no urgency to Volsh's proposed trip. In which case, Dante preferred to be paid to travel over paying to travel. If the caravan job would get them close to the barbarian's destination, they could achieve two tasks with one journey.

And, as it turned out, the caravan was going right through Volsh's destination. Unfortunately, it wasn't possible, now, to ask what Volsh wished to do after finding his soldier in Fort Cross -- or how long it would take to find this warrior there. Would an overnight stop be time enough, or was the soldier perhaps retired and living a distance away?

Dellas, surprisingly, bounced up to abruptly depart; apparently, he felt he'd learned enough already. It wasn't clear if he agreed to the job or not, though.

Wizards were not, Dante thought, the most stable people.

He,  himself, waited for the halfling to answer Narthian's question -- which was of interest to him, now, too. Only after that did Averdante ask, "Do you plan to have any layovers anywhere along the way to trade or deliver goods? Or alter the composition of the caravan?"

That last could be relevant, if enough wagons were added along the way to spread them too thinly, or if the value of goods changed significantly, making the caravan a choicer target than it might be leaving here.

"And we keep what we capture?" Lantamori added.

She'd never guarded a caravan before and wasn't sure if there were some split between caravan and guard when it came to fallen foes and their coin.