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?"