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."