Your quarters are in the east wing of the barracks. It is a single big dorm room, with eight solid two-storey bunk beds and appropriate chests. Walls are bare, a patchwork of material from buildings torn down during the last thousand years of Phlan. There's marble along with simple stone. Ornamental iron sconces are built into the walls, probably scavenged from a nobleman's house. A fireplace on one wall is just waiting for a fire and a nice pot bubbling with stew.

Severals small, barred windows look out to the main square and the street just east of the barracks.

Pausing in the doorway to get his bearings, Ghorgath spots a good bunk that he promptly dumps his stuff next to and rolls onto the bunk. Groaning in relief, he mumbles something incoherently about sharpening swords.

Gharuk almost bumped into his brother as he entered, staring intently at a withered rabbits foot dangling from a hand held at eye level, rather than paying attention to where he was going. "Sorry bruv" he muttered before turning his attention to the room, pocketing the talisman absently.

Seeing his brother move toward one of the bunks, Gharuk followed, commandeering the bunk next to the one Ghorgath flopped into, stripping off his cloak and weapons, rumpling up the sheets and tossing his boots unceremoniously under the bed. He made a point of wiping his axe clean before chucking it onto the top bunk of his own bed and dumped his pack on top of Ghorgaths, reserving them for his sisters, before stripping his gore-soaked shirt off and looking around for a sink, a bath or at least a barrel of water; he was covered in swiftly drying blood, some of it his own.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:15, Fri 02 Oct 2015.

Abighail enters the barracks and stands in the corner where she can watch the door.  The thrill of battle is still upon her and so she doesn't feel like resting, she wants to go get something to eat, but then again she hadn't been at the forefront of battle like her brothers, so she lets them rest.  The blood all over Gharuk was a little concerning, and she asked her sister "Ghorza, can you heal our brother's wound?"

Distracted from his search for a bath, Gharuk turned to his brother. "Hrph. Yeah. Sorry 'bout that. I was gonna ask; that's a nice shiny sword you got there. Where'd you get it from?"

When Abighail entered and asked Ghorza for healing on his behalf, a smile appeared on his face. "Heh, don't you worry 'bout me, little sis', it's mostly their blood, not mine. I got a little nick on my leg and head and head wounds always bleed a mess. It'll be right by tomorrow. I just need to clean up" He gestured toward the top bunks of the beds he and Ghorgath had claimed "I saved you a bunk; just turf my gear off onto my bed" He indicated the rumpled pit next to where Ghorgath was dozing "Don't want no-one getting any ideas about my little sisters, so best to stay close...right?" He seemed genuinely puzzled as to whether his concern was well placed or not.

  Finding a bed Ghorza places her things on the floor at the foot of the bed and sits down.  Listening to the conversation of her family, she stands when Abighail mentions an injury.  "Yes, right away.  I didn't realize anyone was injured."

  Standing up and walking over to her brother she places her hands together mutters a quite prayer and then places her hands on the wounds.  The wound begins glow and the heal itself.

  After she completes healing Gharuk, she turns back to her little sister; "Nice catch.  You still hungry?  I could use some hot food."

"Yes!" Abighail perks up, "I could definitely eat!"

Sitting up, he draws the silver short sword from its scabbard and holds it in the light so he can see the nick. Taking a sharpening stone, he begins working on it "I made this one. Not my best work, but its still better than most. I like the handle on this one, I went with a different wrapping on the handle and the balance of the blade is a little more forward than you would expect. Makes it better for stabbing people!"

He continues to turn the blade over, sharpening it then rolling it in his hand.

Acknowledging Abighail and Ghorza as they come up, Ghorgath stands and addresses them "I'm proud of you, all of you. We all held together and fought well."

Still stripped bare to the waist and bare-foot, Gharuk's eyes went wide at the magical healing Ghorza administered. "Beshaba's bane!" He muttered "That's a neat trick you got there sis" He said as he pawed at the already fading scar that had been the ugly cut on his head.

At the mention of food, Gharuk's belly rumbled loudly; large and intimidating he may be, but a simple soul of simple pleasures. "Hmm, food sounds good. Always good to eat after a good scrap! All I got is biscuits and bacon; travel food. Did that guy say anything about getting grub in this deal? I'll go check."

He seemed to have already forgotten that he was half-naked and covered in gore as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and started towards the door, licking his lips.

Tarkun walks into the barracks and quickly assesses the layout and heads to an empty bunk near a window. He lays his pack down at the foot of the bed then sits with his head in his hands, letting out a long sigh.

A man dressed in black chain mail looks up from where he had been resting on the lower bunk of a bed by the door.  He notes the expression upon the face of the Dragonborn and the clear body language.  Slowly, so as not to alarm any others present, the Black Knight gets up from his bunk and begins to walk towards the sitting figure.

"Ho, Brother, what ails your heart so?"  His voice is a rich baritone touched with genuine concern.  His blue eyes, just visible through the eye slits of his great helm, search the unfamilar face of the man before him.  It is as if they search for the true meaning of both words and intentions.  Gauntleted hands, meanwhile, remain close by.  One is held behind his back while the other rests upon the pommel of the sword hilt at his left hip.

Gesturing to Gharuk, Ghorghath laughs. "Check out this guy. Fully armoured in the barracks."

"Nothing's going to attack you here mate!"

Gharuk roared out a hearty laugh at his brothers' jest, bits of a pasty he'd found and was eating spraying across the room. He'd managed to clean himself up, but still hadn't put a shirt on and his boots were still under his bunk. "Maybe it's all just padding under there. Hurr hurr. Maybe he's hiding an ugly mug. Hurr hurr. Maybe he's a girl. Hurr hurr hurr." Gharuk was obviously not good at jokes as he delivered his jibes in monotone and quick succession without waiting for a response other than his own chuckles. Maybe he should prove he's a man. How 'bout it Clanksalot?" He bellowed across the room at the armoured figure "Wanna prove it? I'll give you choice of game" Gharuk flexed his impressive physique, a clear challenge, but an honest one by his tone.

The admittedly small mess hall is right across the courtyard from your sleeping quarters. A trio of pretty girls cook and serve food to the soldiers here. One of the girls is noticeably pregnant. The food is quite tasty, even prepared from simple ingredients as it is.

Walking into the barracks, Risshil headed over to an empty bed and put down his shield and sword upon it. He then began to strip off the studded leather armor. His mind wandered over many things as he got ready for relaxation.

After dropping off the sack of kobold heads, Hai Tao makes his way to the barracks. Upon entering he scans the room looking for a bunk. Finding none of the bottom bunks empty he heads to a bunk near the door and tosses his pack onto the upper bed. Looking over his blood soaked temple robes he sighs, it was quite obvious he was in need of a change of clothes and a bath.

Turning to the two posturing half-orcs he raises his voice to addresses them, "Excuse me, gentlemen, where would one find a wash basin around here?"


[OOC: Grabbed the bunk over Desdichado's.]

Laughing at his brother making a fool of himself, by still parading around with no shirt and no manners, Ghorgath stuggles to break to a straight face when he responds to gnome "Down that way and to the left. There is also soap in the cupboard underneath."

Still shaking his head at his brother, Ghorgath gets up and heads down tot he wash basin as well.

To Hai Tao, "So what brings a gnome out to these dangerous parts? Money, adventure?"

Hai smiles, "Tragedy, I suppose would be the truthful answer. Necessity as well. I've lost my home and seek another to further my studies. Being light of coin I joined this motley assortment so that I could hope to sustain myself. Though.." He indicates the blood and gore dried to his robes, "..I may have stepped into a more hostile environment than I had expected. What about you? Are you here as a mercenary?"

Reaching into his bag as he continues to speak with the half-orc, Hai pulls out a clean robe from his bag this one made of wool and dyed a dirty brown.

"Yeah, money and adventure. That and the need to leave town with several well armed people at short notice."

The door banged open as Sharlee stomped in.  She glared around at the various occupants before heading to an empty bunk.

"Is this anyones?" she asked.  "Fine!  It'll do me nicely." She had not waited for a reply.

She threw herself down on the bed, head to the foot and puched the air.

"Bastid!  Cheatin' freakin' bastid!"

She swung around to sit up.

"Did any of you guys come across a ghost thing what couldn't be hit?  Bastid!  I want his balls."

With that she threw herself back on the bed and carried on muttering to herself.

Just after Sharlee storms in Ra'Mer is right behind her, finding the first bunk with no gear around it or signs of occupation he lays out. Near enough to talk to Sharlee while looking at the ceiling,
"The slippery Bastid just did not want to die AGAIN."
Adding a little emphasis on the again as it was some kind of ghost that he was not familiar with. Though his frustration was no less than Sharlees'.

Risshil's head turned to the newcomers and tilted his head. "We came across a ghostly figure of an old man who drained the lifeforce of the fleeing kobolds. However it did not seem particularily strong, as the minor radiant magics the Lifegiver granted me and Tarkun's arcane missiles turned it into dust. Hai tao's dart went through it, but that is to be expected from incoporeal undead." he said in response to their question. "It troubles me that there could be more however, a matter that should be looked into."

Brak snorts derisively, "Probably want to invite it 'round for a nice cuppa, ask if its intentions are honorable then send it on its way."

Ghorgath comes back from washing up to hear the rants of a new comer, "Ghostly thing, yeah our group took on a couple of them. Was no real issue, as long as you know what you're doing."

He winks at Abighail and Ghorza, "We sure did kick arse, didn't we".

"Yeah sure, as long as there's only one of them," Abighail says, "But from the sounds of it we met up with different ones, so there might be somewhere out there where they're collecting.  Or maybe they're coming through a portal of some kind."

Hai Tao returns from washing the blood and grim off, wearing his rather drab woolen robe. Having done his best to launder his other clothes but finding the blood too steeped in to ever be completely removed.

"Whatever the creatures are they should not be taken lightly. Any being willing and able to sap the life from another is incredibly dangerous. I believe Risshil is saying we should come at the problem intellectually before just going off half shot trying to destroy them all. There lies a greater mysterious here. Possibly we could speak with someone at the temple who may know more about this than us?"

Risshil nodded and gave the female half-orc a gentle smile. "That is  my worry. Sending them to final death is necessary, but if they are simply pouring in from somewhere the hole must be plugged before eradicating them. The undead must not walk this earth after their time is done. They are an unnatural force that is a blight upon the living. Those that are benign must be gently sent to the afterlife, and all others must be dealt with swiftly. I hope that my worries are unfounded, and that there are merely a few calling this their home."

Ignoring the jibes about his state of dress the Knight seems focused upon listening to the Dragonman in front of him.  However, after a few minutes pass without a response, he bows his head in acknowledgement of the man's desire of silence.  Desdichado steps away and returns to his own bunk, while listening to the conversation of those around him, and nods his head in understanding.

"If I may make so bold.  Information is often the deciding factor in a campaign.  Yet, we are not likely to find much of it in a library.  What I've heard and seen thus far suggests that we are hardly the first gathering of skilled hands to face these dangers.  Perhaps Commander Boros will know where the others are to be found?  Baring that, it shall remain in our best interests to continue to compare notes after each mission, no?"

In reply to Ser Desdichado (msg # 29):

Sitting up in his bunk Ra'Mer nods his head to the knight,
"Yes, information will help and library books never helped me. They fall apart to easily when you hit others with them. Nope, no good at all. Talking is good."
You also built camaraderie while talking of battles and friendships, talking was better. Especially for Ra'Mer.

Seeing that his challenge was going to go unmet, Gharuk shrugged and returned to eating his pasty; chowing down contentedly with a smile on his face. He had half an ear to the conversation going on, but clearly had little interest in it; all this talk of "comparing notes" and "finding the source" was beyond his limited intellect. All he wanted was a good scrap and to be with his brother and sisters and this emotion was written all over his exotically, if ruggedly, handsome face.

His snack finished, Gharuk began stretching out some of the kinks and strains of the combat just passed, limbering up for the 'morrows activity.

"Oh, aye make 'em talk. Don't much matter if you loosen their lips with sweet talk or a hot poker. Once they spill their guts though their guts must be spilt. One undead nasty or vile-filthy-derragnged-no-good-egg-sucking kobold left alive to warn its litter or sneak round behind the lines is one too many," the Dwarven druid says picking a small insect from his ear, he examines it closely then squishes it wiping its remains off his fingers with his beard.

Tarkun searches for the right words to say, but apparently takes too long as the armored man leaves. He takes a deep breath and sighs. Feeling completely left out, Tarkun decides to take a nap to recharge himself.