Our story begins on a stormy night, as our party of adventurers approaches a tavern and inn, The Spotted Owl, on the outskirts of a small farming community, having spent the last hour or so searching for shelter from the rain and wind. The Spotted Owl is a relatively small inn with a warm, cozy interior. It is quite crowded, probably much more so than on other nights on account of the storm. As the party enters, several patrons look up at the new arrivals, then return to their drinks and conversations. "Shut the door!" the bartender barks. "You're lettin' the storm in!"

A portly barmaid greets the party with a smile. "Welcome," she says. "What can we do ya for? I think there's still room available if you all don't mind sleepin' on the floor. Otherwise, you're welcome to order some food and drink and wait out the storm."

Toppor walks into the inn, shaking off what water he could from his cloak there at the door before the bartender's bark reminds him to close the door, "Whiskey, water, and I'll eat whatever you've got as long as it's hot."

As Vimak swung the door open the standard command from the barkeep was cut short "Close that damn doo..." the proprietor stood agape for a second as the large pale hand swung in and grabbed the inside of the door frame. Vimak ducked low through the door, he righted himself to his full height of seven and a half feet before surveying the room. The goliath stepped over to a large table and beckoned to the rest of his companions to join him "Vimek has found the best table, join me." He then took one of the chairs at the table and lifted it into the air, inspecting it to ensure it would hold his mass. Obviously satisfied he set it down again and took a seat.

Anita followed her companions into the inn. She glanced down to make sure her cloak covered the tip of her tail that was now rapped comfortably round her right leg.

He stepped into the warm interior but kept her hood up, the twin horns that curled round the side of her head would have been another give away that she was a tiefling and her race was always looked upon with suspicion. She'd even been chased out of a village once because they thought her presence there had turned the cows milk sower though that was down to feeding them on swamp grass they hadn't listened...... she was daemon blood so she was the cause.

She made her way over to the table Vimek had chosen and seated herself away from the fire and close to the shadows. The symbol on her cloak the only thing that marked her out as a cleric of the light

Paran followed Antia quickly into the Inn, he paused for a second trying to decide what to do, his green skin always pulled glances and many times the wrong... or right conclusion depending on how he looked at it, but it was pouring cats and dogs outside and he was not feeling commiserate enough to hide it and endure the wetness, when right by his side would be one such as Vimak to remove unseemly thoughts from the populace.

"Greetings" he said loud enough to be heard by all as he approached the table.

Removing his cloak, he sat down between Vimak and Antia ordering a warm sweet wine and whatever food was readily available. He sighed in pleasure and thought about moving to the hearth and removing his boots to leave them there for drying, but decided against it... 'maybe need to run... god forbid'.

Cathasach hustled in out of the falling sky and hastily peeled the sopping travel cloak off of his body, sniffing at the air. He wiped some of the rain out of his mustache and grinned as he watched his more self conscious companions compare against the titanic swordsman they traveled with.

He lazily dropped his cloak near the fire and busied himself with a wedge of bread and cheese at a seat to Toppor's right at the table and spoke in between great mouthfuls of peasant food.

"Roof... Roof is good."

Magdaleine stopped just inside the door, the rain dripping off her scales and the cloak she had wrapped around her travel pack. With a tut, she leaned her staff against the doorframe and began a series of complex gestures with her claws. In response, the all the water on her person; on scale and cloth, seemed to dance; flowing and jumping until she had gathered it all in a ball on the palm of her hand. A swift cutting motion froze the ball solid and she tossed it casually out the door before retrieving her staff and proceeding into the room, bone dry.

She languidly took a seat next to Cathasach and idly picked at the food on his plate with a claw, nibbling at his crumbs and leftovers rather than ordering her own. She was conscious of the stares she and her group were drawing and it put her off her appetite somewhat; at least until she felt she could relax a bit. Besides, the fare here was likely overcooked and far too...vegetable for her palette. Still, how bad could the ale be? She ordered something dark and fruity and sat back to watch the room, catlike in her attitude; seemingly relaxed but with an underlying tension.

OOC: cast Shape Water (several times) to dry off

Aliandra peeks into the warm room from behind Cathasach and Magdelein, with whom she has been travelling.  Apparently, the accommodations meet with her approval, for she breezes in with a flourish, removing her cloak like a bullfighter's cape, spraying droplets of rainwater on those around her.  She is wearing a flashy outfit of red and yellow adorned with many pieces of ostentatious (but cheap) jewelry. A rapier hangs at her side and a lute is on her back, though not for long, as she strums a few chords, riffing off of the warrior's statement.

"A roof is good,
Whether of slate or wood.
So many paths here cross!
They'll all hear the tale
of Muscles and Scales.
And if they don't want to, then, their loss!"

She flashes a quick, playful grin at her companions, as if sharing a joke with them, then  surveys the room.  Something about the assembled souls meets with her approval.  "Lots of interesting stories here, I'm certain of it," she says.  "Lots of good tales outside, too, I'm sure. But it's dryer in here."  Then she sits down heavily at the stable, wondering if anyone might offer her a drink in exchange for a song.

Very conciously waiting until Aliandra has removed her cloak, Lucien steps inside the tavern and shuts the door behind the group. He casts one more cautious look outside before turning around and pulling down the hood of his cloak to reveal a warm smile between his pointed ears. He greets both the bartender and the waitress as he hangs his cloak on the back of the chair closest to the door around the table at which the rest of his companions are seated.

From one of the many pockets on his person, the elf produces a deck of cards which he promptly begins to shuffle flashily. "Anyone up for a bit of a card game to pass the time?" He waves to the waitress and requests some bread and cheese of his own.

The strange travelers garner some stares as they enter and get settled, but the tavern patrons largely ignore them after a few minutes.

The fire is warm, the food tasty, and the drinks strong, and the party passes the next hour or so enjoying the comforting atmosphere.

As the tavern is starting to quiet down, with the storm still raging outside, a middle-aged, dark-haired, slightly portly human enters and looks around the room, before settling his eyes on the table where the party is seated. He approaches rather quickly and says, rather pompously, "Good evening. I am Gordrenn, purveyor of magical paraphernalia, material necessities, and related items to many wizards of note. I have a slight problem, and I believe you might be able to help me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:00, Sat 02 Apr 2016.

"Please good sir, calm yourself, take a seat and explain your dilemma " spoke the cleric from under her hooded cloak. The voice was gentle and encouraging.