An autumn breeze blows, quickens the heart and offers a brief premonition of winter.  In the east, Grendep Bay wears white froth like a shawl, content to curl in the Solnor Ocean's vast embrace.  To the north, the barbarian lords call forth their fleets of knarr for one last bout of raiding.

To their south, in Marner, the Lady Eveleigh confers with her generals on the best strategies for defending Ratik's coast against their predations, while the rest of her nation stirs for the final harvest.

And beneath the Rakers sits an inn, as it has for the last five decades.

Called the Full Pint Inn, or Full Pint for short - such is also the name of the stead where it is located - it is a resting place for all sorts.  Often used as a meeting point, folk of varied races mingle in nervous peace.  On crowded eves, elf sits with dwarf, human sits with the like and even the odd orc or goblin shares a toast if the fire is high.

A peace of sorts is kept by the innkeep and his family.  They are strange people, humans, of a narrow build and a thin, mouselike cast.  He, the innkeep, is a nervous, chittering man with hard eyes and overlarge incisors.  His wife and her brother are of similar cast, she not gentled a wit though of the fairer sex.  Some would argue how much fairer - not much could be seen to differentiate other than slightly rounded hips and small lumps that pass for bosums.

Her daughter, however, a mischievous lass, is broader in the waist and well formed in the chest.  Of a night she flirts with the more handsome humans...and she is quite taken with elfs.  To dwarfs she says little, though betimes she's been known to offer a wink or two - a curious girl to be sure.  Sadly, her face is the most mouse-like of the family, some would say rat-like.  She is very ugly.

And their names, all similar as well.  The innkeep is called Barwin, his sister Brielyn (though her husband is merely called Tom).  And the daughter is Briella.

There are other staff as well.  Cook, who runs the kitchen.  Weasel, who washes dishes and runs food and cleans tables, earning himself several swift kicks from Cook or Barwin or even Brielyn each night.  And assorted and sundry wait staff and barkeeps that turnover quite often, most 'leaving for the coast' as Barwin is wont to say with a grin on his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This eventide finds the inn mostly quiet.  There is a hooded figure sitting at a corner table some distance from a group of elfs who reside at two tables pushed together near the hearth.  Briella runs both tables, having pushed the two other waitresses aside.  She is not very good at what she does, but the elfs seem too distracted to pay much heed, and beside the occasional gruff answer to her questions, and an order of "Stew, Ale", there isn't much she's learned from the cloaked stranger.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ooc: okay, here we go.  first post to get you started.  i'll be sending private messages to each of you, hopefully tonight...then will post your entrance once I have your responses.

And so it begins...

Two dwarves sit eating, their attention a quarter turned on the elfs, the other three quarters turned on the cowled stranger in the corner.

The cowled stranger made private notes to himself.

The elfs couldn't be bothered to care a whit for either.

Suddenly, the front door comes crashing open.

"Hey!" cries the serving girl, halting halfway to the dwarfs table with a platter of food and twin pints.  "You'll pay for it, if'n ya break the door!"

A young elf stands there panting, his eyes wide, his sword in hand as he looks about.  He sees - briefly - the other guests, but his head turned at the congregation of elfs sitting mid-room around twin tables.

"Lady Selene!" he nearly shouts in his discomfiture and surprise.  "Milord Antonin - Ehlonna be praised!"

Antonin half stands, a look both stern and bemused upon his face.

"Myrrick, what are you doing here?" he asks the young scout.  "Where's Rennar?"

Taking a moment to catch his breath, the younger elf at last replied, "Rennar's...well, he stayed behind.  There's a horde of gobblers, Milord, half mile away.  Rennar led them a merry chase, but they finally caught up to him."

"Make ready," Antonin said to the table.  The scouts, and Lord Zenon's men, along with Zan stood up to ready weapons.  Quickly tables were overturned.  The ScoutLord turned to the other guests and said, "You may wish to make ready as well."

With no regard for any replies that might be forthcoming, he turned back to Myrrick, took him aside and said, "You're supposed to be in the heights..."

As he left the question hanging, another voice broke in and said, "Leave be, Uncle.  Give him a moment to catch his breath."

Selene regarded her Uncle with a stern look, then smiled at Myrrick.  "Hello, Corporal."

Myrrick grinned back, offered a slight bow and said, "Milady."

"You've a tale to tell?" she asked.  As she did, another elf approached from behind, listening quietly.  Myrrick frowned for a moment as Zan approached, but told his tale.

"Aye.  Rennar and I were tracking in the heights north of the March when we found an old range leading down to a hidden dell.  There was a small stream there, virgin water - pardon the expression - and a small tor with ruins atop.  We circled it, found an entryway leading underground.  We entered about, oh, thirty strides when two great booming voices asked who we were, and what we were doing there.  Scarred the piss - er, right scared me, Lady."

"Two voices?" she asked.

"Aye, like magic," Myrrick nodded, and she grinned and nodded back.

"It probably was a magic mouth - did you see aught upon the walls?"

"No, lady," he replied.  "We didn't have light - let our eyes adjust before entering.  Didn't hear no steps, and didn't get attacked though.  Later we did, hear steps, ran like hells out of the passage back into the light."

OOC: not done yet...

A sudden thought captured Myrrick then.  Sheathing his sword, he pulled out a crumpled sheet of parchment, offered it to Lady Selene.  As she pored over the scribblings thereon, Myrrick nearly shouted, "Rennar said to tell you 'Quesqueton,' like the old keep of legend.  I would have stayed with him but for this!"

Suddenly the room grew still.  Selene looked up at Myrrick, then to Antonin.  All in the room had heard tales of the lost keep of Zelligar and Rogahn.  Wonder and doubt touched all.  The moment of silence stretched for a long minute when suddenly, for the second time, the door slammed open.  Another scout entered, this one older and of mixed blood, human and elf stock.

"Rennar!" Myrrick called out.

His face smeared with blood, his sword sheared nearly at the hilt, Rennar stumbled forward.  Three black feathered shafts could be seen protruding from his back.  He stumbled, regained himself and said, "Ware, Selene.  Gobblers in the heights."

His report given, Rennar fell to the floor.

A moment later, shouts could be heard emanating from the kitchen, and a burly voice shouted, "Gobblers!  Gobblers in the mess!"

At the same time the horde of goblinoids appeared and crashed their way through the front door into the common room.

OOC: Gobblers are Goblinoids: goblins, hobgoblins and bugbears.  Please roll initiative, post actions.  Welcome to Ratik, folks!  Y'all can take it from here.

Bruno had been enjoying the conversation. And the ale. And the stew.

In that order. An orderly fellow, Bruno Rhunthane.

When the elf burst in vociferously and gave his report in such a fashion he continued drinking and eating, but was careful to note what was being exchanged. The tension was deep. The drink and food, okay, but not as compelling to his mind.

It was just as he was having this thought when another elf appears and suddenly it seems as if the Gobblers are rather closer than the previous elf reported.

He was putting his stew-spoon to his mouth once again when...



To his comrade, "We've got a mess in the 'mess', lad. This situation will call for a dwarven shampoo!"

Still chewing a piece of lamb he springs up and grabbing his hammer and shield. Hammer in hand he does not bother to say anything to his new friend, as he knows the lad is a warrior. Instead he begin to chant in Dwarven asking the All-Father for his blessing"

OOC: Bruno Rhunthane rolled 2 using 1d6+1.  Initiative.

Casting Bless

Trying to keep a low profile, even in a small tavern, is not easy for Kullonar; not when you obviously look different than most folk in the place. The stew ain't bad and the company has been worse, so he doesn't say much and keeps his cowl pulled close.
That is, until the excited elf arrives with news about gobblers.
Kullonar puts down his stew spoon and loosens the morningstar on his hip. When the dying elf staggers inside, Kullonar is suddenly on his feet, the hood of his cloak thrown back.
His Orcish features scowl and turn toward the shouting coming from the kitchen. And when the gobblers burst into the front room, Kullonar pulls the morningstar from his hip and hurries forward.

20:50, Today: Kullonar rolled 12,8 using 1d20+1,1d6+2.  Mace attack.
20:50, Today: Kullonar rolled 4 using 1d6.  Initiative.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:26, Tue 06 Sept 2016.

Myrrick glares at the gobblerss that burst into the room, it was their arrows that had felled his mentor. It was them who would pay, with blood. His long sword was in his hand in an instant as he lunged forward toward the gobblers.
Like a flash of lightning, his sword cut a mean arc through the air.


21:33, Today: Myrrick rolled 8 using 1d6+2.  init.
21:36, Today: Myrrick rolled 2 using 1d8.  dmg.

21:36, Today: Myrrick rolled 10 using 1d20+1.  hit.

Uthecar had been moving as soon as he saw the body slump to the floor, the three black arrows protruding from its back.  He'd seen their like before, he knew what it meant.  What's more it was obvious you didn't make it far with that sort of wound, and trouble was not far behind.

He had grabbed his battleaxe in one fluid motion as he stood up, the table lurching, scattering the contents of the barely set tankards and plates about the place, given his sole focus and single minded disregard.

Then the gobbers were in the room.

He was dwarven.  He hurtled forward, blinded to everything else. This was no graceful positioning play, it was a full on battle charge of rage and aggression towards a hate foe.

AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!

13:36, Today: Uthecar Hornskin II rolled 23 using 1d20+3.  to hit.
13:56, Today: Uthecar Hornskin II rolled 11 using 1d8+7.  damage.

Oh boy, I'm going to LOVE this game, a natty 20 on the first throw!! You beauty.  That's got to be a good sign fellas.

Zan who was seated with the group of elves had been looking down when the news first arrived about the gobs.  With the arrival of the second and the announcement of impending troubles, he got an odd smirkie grin about him.  "Seems there more important things going on."  With a quickness and speed associated to an elf, Zan went from a seated postion to standing on top of the table with a bow and arrow in his hand making ready to shoot.

21:16, Today: Zan rolled 7,12,5,10,4 using d6+2,d20+4,1d6,d20+4,1d6.  arrows.
Zan will fire when he has an open shot and not openly fire into one that are already engaged in battle.

A sound like pots and pans clanking about comes from the kitchen.

In the tap room:

A horde of goblins charge into the inn and are met by a hail of arrows launched by Antonin's cadre.  Four four of the first five gobblers fall to multiple arrows, including one from Zan.

A second volley takes out three more.  Still, ten remaining goblins turn to nine when Uthecar charges a fells the lead with a mighty blow causing the rest to halt in surprise and alarm.  Nine turns to eight and eight to seven as Myrrick and Kullonar join the fray, but then a second wave of eight gobblers enters in to buttress the lead force, led by a great beast of a bugbear carrying a huge maul.  This fellow charges straight toward Uthecar.

bugbear - attacks Uthecar - rolled a 9.  Miss.

goblins with rolls of 8,8,1,5,7,2,20,16,11,8,11,1,4,8,5.  to hit
damage dealt: critical hit 10 points (dead), 3 points on a second hit (wounded).

Both members of the elfin cadre - the critical hit fells the first one - cadre is down to 15 members...the second wounded scout bellows in pain, but has the wherewithal to pull his sword and attack the goblin that hit him.

The gobblers have their own archers as well, crossbow wielding hobgoblins who are taking aim from the doorway.  One of the four hobgoblins gets off a lucky shot - a high pitched cry of pain and alarm is cut off as Selene slumps to the floor.  12 to hit/6 pts damage.

As the gobblers attack the elfs drop bows and draw long swords.

Bruno casts Bless (+1 to saves and to hit rolls) before heading to the kitchen.

ooc: gobblers lost initiative - map might be forthcoming, dependent upon the length of the combat.


Party's actions please!

OOC:
quote:
Bruno casts Bless (+1 to saves and to hit rolls) before heading to the kitchen.

Why am I heading to the kitchen? Is that a metaphor for something?

Having finished casting, Bruno grabs his shield and moves into the fray swinging his hammer with the shout, "It's HAMMERTIME!!!"

Bruno Rhunthane rolled 11 using 1d20+5. Hit?
Bruno Rhunthane rolled 12 using 2d4+5. (Should have been 2d4+6, so 13.)  Damage?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:58, Thu 08 Sept 2016.

Selene's scream causes Myrrick to miss badly as he swings his longsword again at the nearest gobbler to him.



17:42, Today: Myrrick rolled 3 using 1d8+1.  dmg.

17:41, Today: Myrrick rolled 4 using 1d20+1.  hit.

Zan rolled his eyes and cursed in elven, well you would guess to be elven.  "$%**$$..."  OOC: Wasn't sure which ones are able to speak elven, if you do let me know.
He pinched a few grains of sand between his fingers and uttered a brief arcane word and waved at the goblins standing near the door.  {Sleep Spell}
16:15, Today: Zan rolled 3 using 1d6+2.  init      17:08, Today: Zan rolled 10 using 4d4.  sleep.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:11, Thu 08 Sept 2016.

Bruno -

Thought you were headed to the kitchen based upon your prior post, as follows:

To his comrade, "We've got a mess in the 'mess', lad. This situation will call for a dwarven shampoo!"

Still chewing a piece of lamb he springs up and grabbing his hammer and shield. Hammer in hand he does not bother to say anything to his new friend, as he knows the lad is a warrior. Instead he begin to chant in Dwarven asking the All-Father for his blessing"

I anticipated wrong, I'm afraid.  Apologies to both you, and the cooking staff.  :p

OOC: Gobs are upon us.
   
This message was last edited by the player at 01:03, Thu 08 Sept 2016.

The first goblin cleaved by his ax stroke, Uthecar readily signals the bugbear to approach, as he kicks the bloodied corpse of the slaughtered goblin into the doorway, to smear its leaking innards, and to hamper those trying to get in.  He wades forwarded against the press if he can, repeatedly swinging his ax like a maniac at any foe that gets in his way.

Fully enraged he begins to chant all Drowning Pool like, "LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR, LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR, LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR,  AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH," swapping in and out of goblin and common.  His wildly laughing face and smiling eyes, ever so briefly, shooting encouraging stares to his comrades in arms, who are also fighting for their lives.

10:49, Today: Uthecar Hornskin II rolled 16 using 1d20+4.  to hit.
10:49, Today: Uthecar Hornskin II rolled 15 using 1d8+7.  damage.

Kullonar

The half-orc priest doesn't flinch as the goblins are reinforced by more of their evil kind. He wields his morningstar, hoping to crush another foe, but alas the gobblers have become wary of him.

11:31, Today: Kullonar rolled 4,9 using 1d20+1,2d4+1.  Morningstar attack.

In the Taproom

Uthecar continues to dominate the center of the room, destroying the bugbear with one fell blow of his axe.

Bruno adds his efforts to the carnage, felling one of the little green buggers with a fine swing of his hammer.

Kullonar, well, he gets a trophy for trying.

Myrrick partially turns in gut wrenching panic as he hears Selene scream in distress, throwing off his swing.

But it is Zan who stands tall as dramatis personae, as with a dash of sand he fells 10 of the remaining goblins (sleep) - nearly their entire force.  Add the affect of the elfin archers and the rest of the shock troops (goblins) are slain without mercy.

Outside, on the porch, you hear in slightly stilted common, 'Stand aside, imbeciles.'  The hobgoblins disappear from the doorway.  Then the same voice speaks in an arcane tongue, the words similar to those Zan muttered but moments before.

ooc: Uthecar, Bruno, Kullonar all fall the ground with smiles of blissful slumber upon their faces.  The elfs are not affected.

After the spell is muttered, you hear the loud steps of retreat from the porch.  As one the elfin cadre rises.  An older elf stands, says, "You, stay here with the girl.  See if anyone here has a healing draught.  If she dies, I'll blame you!" 

A moment later he glances at the other senior elf in the group and says, "I'll chase them down.  My thoughts are with the girl, Antonin."  The other says nothing, holds Selene's head carefully as if afraid to touch her.  A bloody wound stains the fabric of her dress where a black shafted arrow protrudes from her belly.  She is not awake.

The cadre dispatches with the sleeping goblins before leaving.

Suddenly, the door from the kitchen opens and a disheveled young man with wide eyes and holding two kitchen knives rushes into the taproom.  He looks around at the carnage and gulps quite audibly.

ooc: in a nutshell: no living enemies left in the tap room - Uthecar, Bruno and Kullonar are sleeping on the floor.

Actions please!
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:32, Sun 11 Sept 2016.

Uthecars softly snores and passes such horrendous wind, it is almost questionable as to whether a stinking cloud has been cast.

Myrrick rushes to Antonin, "My lord, forgive me." he turns and scans the room, "Does anyone have a healing potion?!" he will then go about waking those sleeping. Covering his face and eyes watering as he nears Uthecar.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:30, Sun 11 Sept 2016.

"...bees are buzzing...in the trees to make...honey just for me.." Kullonar murmurs in his sleep, only frowning slightly at the noxious odor that wafts around his head.

ooc: let me know if Myrrick is able to wake Kullonar.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Tue 20 Sept 2016.

Zan just looked at the older elf, "Of course my liege" and thumped his fist to his chest giving a brief bow.  Few if any would have noticed Zan rolling his eyes when he bowed.

Zan actions were quick and swift, he needed to act and act swiftly he did.  He was upon Selen in a few blinks of an eye.  Tearing free some fabric and wadding it up.  He placed his hand a the fabric close to the where the arrow was, grabbing the arrow shaft with the other.  He pulled the arrow free and applied pressure the wadded fabric.  "Hold this here and apply some pressure, don't worry I'm sure to get the blame should she die."

Once there was pressure being applied, Zan called to Myrrick.  "Check the others for holy symbols, with luck there may be a healer among them."  Zan as well got up and started checking those on the ground for healing potions or holy symbols.


11:19, Today: Zan rolled 2 using 1d6.  123 Bruno 456 Kullonar.

Checking through those on the ground Zan called out, "Found one"  He squatted down and grabbing Bruno gave the fella a thorough shaking to wake him up.  "Healer, wake up.  Healer wake up.  I have desperate need of you services" 

Zan will indicate Selene as the one in need of healing

Bruno had been turning to swing at another goblin when most of them fell. Things were moving quickly and he was not certain, but it seemed likely that one of the elves cast a spell.

Quickly he began moving towards the hobgoblins when he heard the voice from without and saw them move aside. That is the last thing he remembers before the feeling of being shaken rather roughly. Before realizing what he is doing he pushes back against whomever/whatever is shaking him with the entirety of his 18/00 strength, but then realizes that it is one of the elves.

Shaking his head and rubbing a hand across his eyes his baritone voice blurts, "Yes! Yes! WHATISIT?"

When he realizes that the elf is pointing out a woman seemingly being cared for by other elves and no actual fighting going on around him he hops up as quickly as his cuirass permits him, "Ah, yes. Forgive me!" he mutters to Zan as he pushes past him to where the woman lays.

Upon arrival at the location he kneels down and seeing that another elf is holding a cloth, covering a bleeding wound he quickly grabs the silver hammer hanging around his neck and begins a prayer to the All-Father.

Dropping Portent for Cure Light Wounds [assuming I should roll this]

Bruno Rhunthane rolled 8 using 1d8.  Cure Light Wounds.

Uthecar stirs much like Bruno.  One minute he was fighting, the next he finds himself face down on the ground in dead goblers blood asleep.  Being unaccustomed to being overcome by spell power, he scrambles to his feet, with a sound not too dissimilar to boulders being crushed together to show his displeasure.

Blood still dripping from his ample beard he shoots distrustful looks about the room, but is somewhat mollified when he sees Bruno is unharmed and tending to a patient.  He stomps outside muttering under his breathe about only just getting warmed up and the yellow bellied cur had scattered.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Sun 11 Sept 2016.

OOC: not sure who wakes up Kullonar, but since Zan is specifically looking for healers

Zan will continue checking those asleep, He does a double take when he finds a half/orc carrying a holy symbol.  He checked him over, talking mostly to himself "He did help to fight off the goblins."  Zan reached down and shook Kullonar shoulder and arm.  "Hey healer, wakie wakie"  Zan stepped back a pace or two as he came round having learned the need that someone waking up may not be the most agreeable person.

"Could use your healing help, with an injured pr..." Zan stopped himself and merely pointed to the injured elven maiden.

Having cast his spell Bruno takes another look at the woman's wounds to determine whether or not he ought to use his remaining spell. With a relieved sigh he looks up at the elves around him he says, "I think she will be okay."

Letting go of the silver hammer symbol hanging down across his breastplate he stands and bows, "I am Bruno Rhuthane, priest of Moradin and warrior of Dilvhom."

While tall for a dwarf he has less girth than might be expected despite considerable thew and sinew. Rather self-consciously he runs a hand through his red beard as if to comb it out and nods towards the door, "And my comrade is the warrior Uthecar Hornskin, second of that name.

"It seems it was fortunate that we were all here at the Full Pint this day. Unless, of course, this was preordained..." Having spoken the thought that had suddenly occurred to him his voice trails off and his rather bushy left eyebrow rises as he considers the implication of this reading of events.

Myrrick walked over to Bruno, "My thanks warrior priest... I owe you. It is lucky we were all here this day. The buggers... there were so many."

Uthecar waddles back into the room.  He doesn't look overly pleased by that fact there were no living enemies outside.  His ax is now strapped across his back though, leaving his hands free.  He doesn't pay those in the room much mind, instead matter-of-fact-ly turning around as he grabs each of the bugbears legs and yanks them up under his armpits and starts to drag the stinking carcass outside, leaving a trail of goo as he does so.

"Needs to be a staking." he says to no one in particular.  "Scare the little buggers off, and let the big ones know we pack a punch." He offers no explanation as to what that might mean.

pm

PM

Kullonar, Half-Orc

Kullonar snorts and wakes up, sitting up, still fuzzy headed and wondering why he was dreaming about bees. Hadn't he been fighting goblins and such?
He looks curiously around and then gets to his feet, picking up his morning star and noticing all the dead humanoids lying about the place. It all comes rushing back to him and as if on cue, he yells, "Is anyone injured? I have been blessed by St. Cuthbert for healing."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:31, Tue 20 Sept 2016.

Bruno nods perfunctorily in response to Uthecar, "We'll let the locals decide how to deal with that."

And then turns when he hears Kullonar, and pauses. By the Soul-Forger!, he thinks to himself. Even before he entered the priesthood he was no fan of orcs and since that time he has had his dislike of them honed. This makes half-orcs somewhat problematical for him.

His pause is quite quick, though, as he realizes that the fellow had presented himself as a follower of St. Cuthbert and as such that certainly suggests that he has managed to overcome the worser parts of his blood.

"Well met, Brother. I am Bruno Rhunthane, blessed by Moradin am I."

Indicating Uthecar, "And this is Uthecar Hornskin, second of that name."

Uthecar looks to be gritting his teeth that the planned staking has effectively been vetoed by the Priest of the All Father.  He dumps the dead bugbear outside instead, still muttering under his breathe about it not being the dwarven way, but not gainsaying the priest.

He raises his hand in acknowledgement to Kulloner, who he did glimpse changing blows with the evil horde, before they both were overcome.  He continues cleaning the room, grabbing dead goblins by their hair and simply sliding them along the floor, as if he were using them as a bowling ball to score a strike.  Some make it through the doorway, while others crunch into the door-frame.  It's getting the job done, though it isn't showing any respect for their dead.

The stench of death fills the air, that mixture of blood, piss and shit that covers any battlefield, new or old, large or small.  Suddenly, the innkeep appears.  His nose twitches, and his eyes get wide, and suddenly he begins to bustle about, calling for folks to help.

Several staff appear with brooms, mops, rags, buckets and all the other assorted things that are used to clean.  A moment later, the innkeep's sister appears, says in a loud voice, "We'll burn them out front.  Their kin should smell the stench - a good warning."

A couple of the staffers assist Uthecar in his efforts.

OOC: more to come...

Weasel looks at the knives in his hands and then wipes them on one of the goblin's shirts... not that it helps clean the blades all that much.

"I'm Weasel.   Hey!  I killed one!  If he has good stuff, that means I git his stuff, right?  'course, he's not gonna have good stuff.  He's a goblin.  If he had good stuff, he'd not be attackin' here.  The hobgoblins!  They might have good stuff.

"It's a good thing that Cook yelled that warning to you all, otherwise you might'a been taken by surprise!  What's that weird smell?  Is that what dead goblin smells like?  Smells worse than the hogs.

"Oohh.... a real dwarf.  And a real elf!  And an orc who's a Priest of the Cudgel!  Wow!  I ain't seen no-things like this before!  Dwarfs like gold... orcs like blood....   what do elfs like?  If it's wine, you need to find a different establishment!"

Weasel will help clean up by dragging bodies outside.

Zan did a quick check of what fallen goblins that he could. He was impressed with the strength that the Dwarves had shown in battle and with helping clean up the mess.

When Kullonar made his offer for assistance with the injured Zan pointed him in the direction of the injured elven maiden.

He replied to Weasel's question, "Elf's mostly like themselves, but there are a few that fall outside of that. Nice job on killing the Gob, not the smartest but they make up for it with numbers."

Zan walked over to check on the status of Selene health, "Will she be OK?"    There was a bit of concern in his voice but his actions showed no sign of distress.  "I'm .."  there was a brief pause as if he was deciding something and then continued, "I'm Zan, gifted in the magical art and good with a bow.  Many thanks for your aid in healing Selena"  He gave a bow of gratitude.

Kullonar pauses but tries to keep the shock from his face. He never would have thought there'd come a day when a dwarf would call him 'brother.' He almost doesn't believe his ears.
"And well met to you, Brother. I am Kullonar of the Cudgel. Only the gods could arrange such a meeting as this, eh?"

He nods at Uthecar, who seems quite busy at cleaning up the dead goblins. He then walks over to where the elves are gathered around Selene. "Does she...still require healing? I am trained in such things, by the grace of St. Cuthbert."

This message was last edited by the player at 02:31, Tue 20 Sept 2016.

Bruno pauses with Weasel's entry and swallows a laugh at his seemingly naive enthusiasm thinking to himself, And humans like to talk, apparently.

"Well met, Weasel Goblin Slayer."

Myrrick nodded in greeting, "Myrrick, Ranger of wood, among other things. Pleased to meet you all, thank you for helping Selene."

The Aftermath:

With a series of quick shakes, the elfs manage to wake the dwarfs, and to their surprise, the half orc who appears to be an acolyte of Cuthbert.  Bruno reacts the swifter, laying hands upon the lovely elfin pri...girl.  Her eyes flutter deeply, then she cringes in pain as the dwarf priest of Moradin withdraws the arrow from her gut.

"Ye'll have a scar lass, but no more than that it seems," Antonin murmurs.  Looking up, he finds no words for Zan, though his face becomes a stormcloud now that Selene is recovering.

ooc: it is apparent Antonin is a relative of Selene's.

Uthecar goes from killer to clean up crew without a by your leave, though there are some unpleasant words being muttered under his breath...almost.  The innkeep barks, "Hah!  The idea has merit, dwarf!"  Then the man is shut down by his sister, whose suggestion takes precedence (see my last post above).  The idea seems to appease Uthecar, and his expression brightens...well, grows less dark anyway...

Suddenly, a youngish human, perhaps late adolescence comes from the kitchen area.  He carries twin kitchen knives, both blooded, and claims to have killed one of the gobblers.  Given his age, there's some doubt, but that's erased when the big form of the cook comes in.

'Oi!  Boy!  Deft with the knives, but remember to clean them before you cook again," Cook shouts.  In his hand is a frying pan, upon his forearm is an ugly gash.  Brielyn (the innkeep's sister's name, you may recall) approaches him, but he holds up the frying pan and shouts, "Away, harridan!  Don't think I didn't see you all scamper like rats down a hole! I know what you are!"

Weasel suddenly looks nervous at Cook's words, makes himself useful by pulling one of the goblins out the door.

Cook descends into a sullen silence, looks at the adventurers and says, "Don't suppose any of you have some cloth I can use to wrap around my arm?"

In the sudden calm following the melee can be heard a number of hasty introductions, dwarf to elf, elf to dwarfs, half orc to all.  It is an eclectic and surprising turn of events, but such is life in the heights.  Still, there is an undercurrent of tension - the innkeep and his family have retreated behind the bar offering hard eyes for the Cook, who has grabbed a chair for the nonce.

Suddenly, the fat waitress (Brielyn's daughter) stoops down over Rennar, the fallen ranger, and says, "Hey, I think he's still breathing."  There is about her a feral air, curious and a bit unsettling.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:06, Mon 19 Sept 2016.

Bruno observes it all and when the cook asks for a cloth he begins to speak and when the serving wench makes her announcement he pauses. With a bushy eyebrow raised he turns to Kullonar, "Why don't you see what can be done for the, erm, 'Ranger' there. I'll help the cook."

Turning back to the cook he motions the man forward, "Let us have a look. I think I've still enough of the All Father's strength in me to help with that. Your dwarven guests, at least, intend to eat more of your stew and we'd rather you weren't bleedin' into it."

He holds out his hands and if the man lets him he takes a look at the forearm. Passing his silver hammer symbol over it he says a prayer.

Bruno Rhunthane rolled 5 using 1d8.  Cure Light Wounds.

Kullonar nod to Bruno and hurries to the side of Rennar. He gives the fat waitress a dismissive glance, he begins working on Rennar's wounds. Pulling forth a symbol of his faith, he chants softly, seeking healing for the man.

19:47, Today: Kullonar rolled 3 using 1d8.  Cure Light Wounds on Rennar.

Weasel's grin to Bruno is a bit bemused.

Myrrick's greeting is heartfelt and full...and not just for the girl, but for his mentor, Rennar as well.  Kulloner's healing has done it's work.  The bleeding has stopped, and the slow, sucking sound of a punctured lung has ceased as wounds have closed.  Still, Rennar is in grave shape, and will require close care and a long convalescence.

Bruno's touch upon Cook heals him completely with but a light scar as proof of hurt.  Awestruck, the man looks at his arm, looks at the dwarf and says, "Every day now and moving forward I'll offer a small prayer of thanks to the Soul Forger.  Moradin's grace upon thee, Priest!"

Of sudden, Antonin barks, "Myrrick, come tell me what happened with you and Rennar in full detail.  I'll hear every word."

Selene sits up, and with care the elflord assists her to a standing position.  She pouts a bit - a lovely face - at her ruined tunic, but then offers the young ranger a grin and says, "Aye, Myrrick...there's a tale here, perhaps an opportunity as well."

Turning with a pensive glance at Zan, she adds, "For you as well, Zanfinis."

Then she turns and graciously says, "But first, my thanks to these doughty strangers.  You'd no cause to get involved, yet you did.  In so doing, you saved a worthy life," she nods at Rennar, "and my own as well.  With that said, perhaps the opportunity I speak of exists for you as well.  Unless I miss my guess, I think this is just such the boon you've been looking for on your journeys."

Uthecar arrives from his grisly task in time to hear that last and his interest is piqued.  In the background, Weasel hovers and listens carefully.

"Ha!  You must be out of your mind with pain, Selene," Antonin says with a laugh.  "Two dwarfs, two elfs and a half orc in the same party?  Like as not they'll carve each other within the first mile!"


"Hush, Uncle," said Selene, before turning back to the assembled.  "I am certain you heard the declaration made by young Myrrick upon his entrance.  I'm certain as well each of you have heard of the rumored stronghold.  Ratik sits between hammer to the south and anvil to the north - with pardons to the Soul Forger, Father.  Yet here, perhaps is an opportunity.  So I ask each of you - will you take it?"

Kullonar steps forward and then goes to one knee.

"Two miracles have occurred this night, lady. A dwarf has called me 'brother' and a highborn elven lady has asked me to help her. By the Cudgel! I am your servant, lady elf."

Uthecar turns to Bruno a greedy glint too bright to hide in his eye.  "Gold and goblins Brother.  Gold and goblins."  It's easy to surmise his leanings, though he says nothing to the others, waiting on the priest to make their decision.

Bruno was gratified that his prayer helped adjust Cook's attitude towards Moradin. (More importantly, it might make future visits to this place a bit easier.) When the elves begin speaking among themselves he listens curious. Nothing like a bit of politics to make things interesting!

While he is still a bit bemused by the half-orcs reaction to his calling him by the title he had presented himself it does underline something important. That fellow is not half bad and what's more a bit of regard goes a long way. Perhaps too far for the lad. We shall see if he is truly a 'brother'.

When Uthecar speaks to him he nods, "Oh. Aye...."

Turning to the woman called Selene and her uncle, "Desperate times inspire, methinks.

"I would learn more of this matter, your worships,"

Glancing around the room, "Given the excitement of the past hour I would restart my meal, enjoy several more tankards, and hear your tale."

Uthecar gives Brother Bruno a hearty slap on the back, as he beams from ear to ear.  "Ha Haaa, now ya talking.  Let's forge the blue print over bread and beer." He glances at the cook, "That's one flagon, potatoes and a great nasty steak," he sayss in case the cook actually thought he was interested in eating bread.

His order complete, he doesn't consider anyone else might be thinking anything different and sets to picking up and pushing together the tables, trestles and chairs so food can be served.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:50, Tue 20 Sept 2016.

Zan had little to say at the moment, he did kringe a little bit when she called him that name.

He collected his arrows and came a sat at the table his appetite and thirst for drink having passed.

Myrrick relates the tale of the hunt, finding the well hidden trail, following it... the voices, Rennar's warning to run. Then during the escape, Rennar ordering him to get the message to Antonin no matter the cost, and staying behind to lead the gobblers on a merry chase. Once he's given every detail he can recall to Antonin and Selene, "Forgive me, there is a bit of a blur there. A lot happened fast." he looks to his feet a moment, "These people here helped you, Selene, and Rennar... I will journey with them gladly, if they'll have me along."

Zan asked, "Do you think you could find the trail again?"

Myrrick looked at Zan, "Yessir, I can find the trail again, I believe."

Uthecar lets out a satisfied "Ahhhhhh" as he takes a deep swig from the tankard that arrived at the table.   "Sounds like you're imperative to the success of any treasure rescuing, goblin thumping mission to me." he says looking at Myrrick.

The innkeep's daughter bustles to and fro with a cadre of servers as, from the kitchen, the sound of Cook's booming voice comes hardly muffled from within.

'If I were a rich man, yada, yada, yada, ya...'

Flagons are refilled, plates are set, blood is mopped.

Off to the side, Antonin crouches beside the barely conscious Rennar.  A litter is being made by members of the elfin patrol, as the older elf binds the ranger's ribs.  Myrrick hovers overhead until Antonin barks, "Go eat, boy.  You'll need the sustenance."

Selene sits at the head of the newly formed table, a small goblet of wine before her.  She twirls the stem, staring at the pewter for a moment as everyone gets settled, then looks up and smiles.  It is radiant, her eyes shine, her hair shimmers.  None among you remains untouched - even Uthecar pauses in his repast to stare at the fair maiden...

"You likely know some of the tale of Quesqueton and its two worthies, Zelligar and Rogahn.  Zelligar was a mage of some repute, a practitioner in many arts, including dark.  Rogahn was a great warrior who first found fame in the gladiator pits in the great north.  Somehow - and only they know - they met and befriended, and set upon a lifetime of adventure.  'Tis said they were dragon killers, demon tamers and friends of the undead - yet as they grew older, the retreated into the heights to build their fastness away from prying eyes.

Despite their predispositions toward the shadow, it seems both felt a certain loyalty toward Ratik.

Some thirty and more years ago, many years prior to Eveleigh, the Frost Barbarians raided in force.  A fleet of knarr came across the Bay, another horde traveled south through the passes and into the Timberway.

When things were most grim, as the pincers of the twin barbarian forces began to squeeze, Zelligar & Roghan, along with a mighty force of humans and fellfolk (humanoids) met the landforce in the wide pass above the Timberway and soundly defeated the barbarian horde.  They say an ocean of blood spilled that day, mostly barbaric, as Zelligar cast terrible spells and Roghan led fierce charges into their ranks.

The victory at the foot of the Rakers allowed Ratik's forces to rally.  In a swift counter attack, the met the landing forces and pushed them back into Grendep Bay.

As the victorious nobility turned to meet their unexpected allies, a courier arrived with a message that said simply, "We travel north."

They were never seen in Ratik again, though rumor tells that both fell atop a great mountain that loomed well above the last great pass leading into the barbarian realms."

She pauses, let's the tale sink in a moment before continuing.

"'Tis a lot to take in," she adds.  "But with Myrrick's news," she offers said lad a smile and nod, "...comes perhaps a hope unlooked for.  The barbarian tribes are restless again, our borders are not secure.  If Quesqueton has been found, then we must seek to secure the stronghold for a couple of reasons.  First, it provides a legitimate hedge against nonsense from the Bone March.  They'll not raid in force if we have a hold in the heights from which to respond, and a secure southern border will allow Eveleigh to focus her full attention north.  Second, surely some clue has been left behind indicating their true purpose, and ideas on how to meet the barbarians - and all our enemies - from a position of strength."

"Thus, to you comes a task that may change Ratik's fortunes greatly.  Go and search Quesqueton, find such clues in correspondence and journels and such as will assist Lady Eveleigh in our land's defense.  Furthermore, scout the ruins, and clear out such foes as you are capable of defeating.  Make note of all you come across so that we are prepared to take the ruins from whomever holds them."

"Simple, eh?"

She laughs at the last, breaking an increasingly somber mood.  Pushing aside the forgotten goblet, she leans forward and asks, "Any questions?"

Myrrick nodded to Antonin, "Yes sir, forgive me." he backs away and eats his fill, quickly, dwarves were around after all, and if he didn't eat it, they surely would. Looking to Uthecar, "I hope to prove as useful as I sound sir."

Myrrick, eager to make up for Rennar's condition and his horrible lack of prowess in the recent battle, "When do we leave?" There were more questions, but that was the one pressing his mind at the moment.

Kullonar

When the lady Selene begins the tale, Kullonar takes a piece of parchment from his pack and with ink and quill, makes a few notes. During his early years of study at the shrine, his teachers often made over his studious habits; he's found he can't keep all of his thoughts together, so the notes help him remember the important things.
So, between spoonfuls of stew, Kullonar writes anything down he thinks may be noteworthy.

After the tale, he finishes his stew and cups his hands around the cool mug of ale. Staring into the froth is easier than gazing at the beautiful elfish princess. Besides, he is almost sure her guardians and protectors would not appreciate one of his...breeding...to be caught in a lingering gaze upon their charge. And didn't she call one of them 'uncle' earlier?

"Lady Selene," he says, still looking into his mug, "in whose name should we claim lost Quesqueton when we find and secure it?"

Selene's shimmering hair and shining eyes were certainly something to catch and hold one's attention. Even before entering the priesthood, however, Bruno's notably high wisdom enabled him to avoid social awkwardness and to perceive of subtleties in situations. Indeed, given that he is one of the few clerics of Moradin not born of a family of priests it would be natural to point to this as being the reason he was accepted as a novice in the first place. So, while he could not help but note her radiant allure he was able to eat without slurping and listen to her tale without gawping.

When she finished and he hears Kullonar's question he nods in agreement, "Yes, what you say about making use of whatever might be found there and perhaps one day re-taking control of this fortress in defense of Ratik makes good sense to me, my Lady. Indeed, your words suggest that you hold a title or at least a post of significance under the ArchBaroness. Forgive me for my ignorance, but may I ask what that is?"

Weasel, finding a piece of goblin on the floor, bends to pick it up and then yanks back his hand, as if he nicked his finger.  "Sorry.  Just jittery, I guess."

Not overly interested in talk of who is in charge of what, Uthecar considers the boy, "You drew your first blood today son.  It shows courage, even if you were only fighting for your life.  Cast the aprons aside, come with us."  Uthecar stops one of the serving girls and orders a refill for himself, as well as a pint for the lad.

"I'll not let a first kill pass without a toast in celebration.  As he waits for the drinks to arrive he continues, "You're not a warrior, and probably not a mage, but it's clear the life of a scullery maid isn't for you.  You'll think of those jitters differently when you have gold in your pocket and have faced down more foes."  He looks to the door, pointing with a fat stubby index finger, "It's all out there just waiting for you to take, come with us, and find where your courage takes you."

The slender human entered the common room from the main stair mid-room and across from the kitchen door shortly before Uthecar addressed him.  His attention elsewhere, he turned his head swiftly and stared at the beefy dwarf with bug-eyes in surprise. 

As Uthecar spoke, the rest of the party cast a glance at the scrawny young man.  He didn't look the part of adventure, but his was a thoughtful mien, his eyes filled with intelligence and mischief.

His intrusion brief, and Uthecar's exortation nearly as brief, the rest of you turned back to Selene.

"Ah, my apologies, I am Selene D'Inarial, daughter of Earl Orion D'Inarial, Protector of the Lower Rakers and the Timberway.  My uncle, my guardian, is Baronet Antonin D'Inarial.  Thus I speak on some authority regarding these matters.  It has long troubled Lady Everleigh that we could not find this keep - she has set her efforts on finding the place using means both mundane and magical, yet has yet to discern the locale.  She will be most pleased with your discovery Myrrick - and I think it fair to say that I speak on her behalf in setting you this task."

"As for when to begin, I say as soon as possible.  At the first light, we shall convene in the courtyard of this fine keep and say our good-byes.  I will ride in one direction bearing news for the Lady Eveleigh.  You will make in the other direction toward Quesqueton - if you're amenable."

There is a note of challenge and humor in her declaration, such that none of you feel unmoved to the call to action.  Even the boy with the satchel has crept closer to hear what's being said.

Bruno nods as Selene speaks and takes a drink from his cup. He had heard his dwarven comrade's words to the human lad, but not responded.

He glances at Uthecar, but is confident he knows his thinking, and looks at Weasel with an appraising eye, Young, dumb, and full of.... That one'll be trouble, is the thought that shoots through his mind.

Looking back at the elf noble, "Since I'm a priest, I think I'm supposed to say that today's events and our meeting must be foreordained."

He pauses and takes another drink and purposefully glances at Kullonar, "But that is a Bard's bullshit."

Winking at Uthecar he laughs, "Let us be heroes together and if we may do so in the service of Lady Eveleigh it'll be good work done with twofold-plus value."

Finding the brothers humour infectious, and call to action irresistable Uthecar lurches to his feet, which does nothing to raise his height as he comes down off the stool.  He grabs his tankard as he falls to his feet, spilling some upon himself, which is ignored as if it never happened, as he raises it for a toast, "Two dwarves, two elves, a human, and a mixed blood Orkling priest.  A mysterious mix as I've ever seen, to unravel the mysteries of a mysterious place.  To being heroes." he says in toast.  "We've battled together once and won our lives, lets do so again and get filthy rich." He beams an enthusiastic smile about the place, not overly caring he is in the presence of close to elven royalty, as he holds out his vessel for others who are keen to toast to chink it.

Myrrick nodded, a smile finally crossing his face at the words of Selene and the dwarves, "Aye, a toast, more food, a goodnights rest. For tomorrow, we start down the road to becoming heroes. Thank you Selene, and the rest of you as well. Thank you all for what you've done today, and will do in the future." The somewhat somber ranger is rather charming when he tries it seems.

Kullonar clinks his mug with the bold-spoken dwarf and gives a toothy grin. He offers a bow and a smile to Lady Selene as well.
Thinking about this group venturing together lifts his spirit and he can't stop grinning; his face will surely be sore in the morning because of it!

He walks over to Bruno and says, "I agree with you, brother. This meeting could not have been anything other than ordained by the gods. We may not be the leaders of the group, but they will turn to us for spiritual need. I am confident that both of us are up to the task. It's going to be a glorious journey!"

"I'll need time to replenish my spells, first light works for me"

OOC: /sorry for the short post but still traveling at the moment

In reply to Kullonar (msg # 62):



Bruno is not sure that Kullonar actually understood his earlier sarcasm, but the fellow's sincerity is welcome. Or maybe it is more that it is surprising. After all, none of the orcs he had ever come across seemed to be this smart, let alone smiley.

"Oh, aye! Between us we shall make sure everyone stays on the straight and narrow."

No one had seen him leave.

Weasel comes running back in, carrying what looks like everything he owns:  a light sword, a backpack that is pathetically empty, and is arm half through the arm opening in a moldy shirt of quilted armor made of heavy canvas.  He skids to a stop as eyes turn to him.

Despite his load, he made a passable bow.

"Ah, Milords and Miladies....  Cook says it's time to leave.  There's a wer-rat problem and it's 'bout to get worse. A. Lot. Worse.

"An' Sir Dwarf, I will take you up on that proposal!  Can't be stayin' here no more!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:48, Sat 24 Sept 2016.

Uthecar smiles proudly to the boy congratulating him on his decision, before he turns to Bruno.  "I've never fought one inflicted with the moon disease, but I believe one will soon become many, if it is not stopped.  Does anyone have any knowledge about fighting them?  Should we be dealing to them before we leave for this mystery place?  The cook did do his part in the fight by warning us 'n' all, so I'd hate to leave'm in a spot of bother if it can be 'elped.

Kullonar's good mood suddenly turns to concern when the lad, Weasel, rushes back in and mentions something about wererats. "Are you saying this town has a problem with wererats? Cook, what does this boy mean?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:30, Mon 26 Sept 2016.

Bruno had started to speak with a question quite similar to Kullonar's, but the half-orc beat him to it. Nodding in agreement he added, "Aye. What is all this?"

Myrrick's hands drifted close to his sword and dagger's handles.

Just for clarification:

Weasel arrived down the main stairway that leads directly into the common room (think a square - the top part of the square has a passage leading upward to the second floor, where the rooms are - that's where Weasel came from.

Recall, Weasel left earlier with Cook - they took a doorway on the left wall into what you assume is the kitchen (safe assumption, btw).  That wall's where the bar area is as well ( the bar runs some thirty feet from the door to the kitchen to the bottom wall).  In the middle of the bottom wall is the entrance to the inn.  On the right wall sits the great hearth, and near the hearth is where everyone is sitting.

Cook is not with Weasel the second time he enters (from the stairs on the top wall).  You assume he's in the kitchen.

Notably absent as well is Barwin (the innkeep) and Brielyn (innkeep's sister) and Briella (Brielyn's daughter - the fat waitress), though there are several other servers running the table, bussing and, well, serving.

I'll have a new post up no later than tomorrow.  Its a work day for me today.

Cheers - and welcome to Weasel to the party.  I sincerely hope he does his name justice!!!

22 Patchwall, YR 1 of The Seer's New Greyhawk Orthodox Calendar.  Time: 1958 on the revised 24 hour-segment clock.

Weasel's arrival and subsequent announcement has left the party bemused.  Selene's face is drawn with concern, her Uncle is suddenly grim.  While the party members welcome the young human into their fold, Antonin begins issuing brisk orders to the cadre.  As one, the squad of elves stands and begins pushing tables and chairs out of the way.

As if aware of a sudden change, the help disappears.  Some ascend the stairs leading toward the guest rooms, others flee hurriedly outside, through the front door.  With their departure, an ominous air falls upon the inn.

Antonin barks at the group, "If any of you have silvered or enchanted weapons, now's the time to arm yourself with them.  Else it would be better if you get behind us.  Normal weapons will avail you not at all!"

He draws a sword that glows brightly as he says so, while the members of the cadre pull forth their long bows, and string silvered arrows to their strings.

Frankly, it is an odd tableau.  There is no noise, has been no noise from upstairs or in the kitchen.  As the minutes pass, you begin to wonder if Weasel, or even Antonin have overreacted.

Then all hell breaks loose.

A loud roar comes from the kitchen, followed by high squeals and humanish sounding voices issuing threats and curses.  Less than a minute later, a great crash occurs, than suddenly the door to the kitchen explodes into the common area, ripped from the hinges by a huge, bearlike monstrosity.

Riding the bear are three sinewy figures in course fur, with big, pupil-less eyes, elongated noses and large incisors that protrude from wickedly grinning mouths.  The three are plunging short swords that offer a similar, though more modest glow as Antonin's sword into the bear's back.  Blood spatters the floor, courses through the doomed bear's fur, yet suddenly he reaches his right paw over his shoulder, the claws extended and impales one of the rat-like critters.

(I invite you to check out the personages of note thread)

As the victim of his attack thrashes about, the other two ratfolk work their short swords with increased fury, plunging the blades over and over into the great beast's back.

The bear is failing.  As he falls to a knee, he cries out in a growling voice, "Shoot! Shoot your bows.  Kill them!"

You look at Antonin, note tears in the stoic elfs eyes as he nods and gives the order.  Two volleys of arrows plunge into the werefolk - the bear is felled nearly instantly, five of the silver tipped arrows in it's chest.  The impaled ratman is also killed, three arrows finishing the bear's efforts.  Of the two left upon the bear's back, one is felled by a wicked shot - a silvered tip piercing its eye - yet the grip the dead ratfolk refuses to let go and it is flung around like a ragdoll by the bear's death throes.

As more arrows fly, the last ratfolk uses the bear and it's compatriot as a shield, and as the elves reload, he leaps toward the kitchen and darts through the door.

"Go!" shouts Antonin to the cadre, and the move with deadly grace as they pursue the beast through the kitchen and out the door.

As the cadre disappears, Antonin moves quickly to the bear.  He pulls the wererats off the great beast and unceremoniously dumps the bodies to the floor.  He kneels at the bears head, waits quietly a moment.

Suddenly, a great tranformation begins to occur.  The bear - and the discarded wererats - change before your eyes.  It is a frightening display.  You all are sickened by it.  Yet once complete, you see the naked forms of Brielyn and Barwin.  Of the former's husband, nor of her daughter, there is no sign - it seemed likely one or the other fled moments before through the kitchen.

You also note Cook.  Blood froths his mouth.  His eyes are wide in shock and pain.  Then he offers a ghastly smile to Antonin, heaves a last, great sigh, and expires.  Sadly, there will be no prayers of thanks to Moradin on the morrow.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The aftermath:

Antonin covers the burly Cook with a table cloth, looks at Weasel.  "It says something that he was the only one who treated you well, boy.  Remember that kindness - it likely saved your life."

He adds, "I'll not get into close details, but know this, all of you.  Cook was one of our best men, been here for a long while.  We knew there was a problem - too many young folk disappearing.  Worse, Barwin and his families were spies from the March.  So we had a commission to follow up on.  Not your fault, Myrrick, but frankly your timing was for shit.  Fortune's kiss, I guess.  Regardless, all of this plays into your group's mission now...there's more riding on this trek to Quesqueton than you might reckon.  Think on that, then let us know your intentions in the morning."

It is an hour before the cadre returns.  The have been joined by Zenon and his scouts, but their news is disappointing.

"Could not find the last rat, Sir," said the Captain.  "Could be anywhere."

The clean up begins - the kitchen is a mess, but no signs of the escapees are present.  Antonin gathers the two magic short swords, offers them to the group.  "Wouldn't shock me if they follow you - we were hardly discreet and the fat wench certainly heard enough to draw some conclusions.  Damn I wish I had this night back!  Anyway, you'll likely need these in case they follow you.  Keep a close watch - they're clever fuckers, stab you in the back first chance they get."

The rest of the night passes uneventfully.  You all find it difficult to sleep, so there are some bleary eyes when the first touch of dawn stains the windows.  Antonin's awake with Zenon - Selene is still sitting crosslegged, her eyes closed as she walks the dreamscape - the prior had been a difficult day for her.  Antonin greets each of you, invites you to sit at table.  A server comes in and drops off a hot skillet filled with a mixture of scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon and fluffy biscuits with huge vats of butter and honey.

"Enjoy - on the house," Antonin grins.  "A good start to a journey...I hope."

Uthecar sits at the table with no further encouragement required.  He digs in deeply.  He is quiet as he eats, but before too long he talks to Antonin between mouthfuls.  "I don't like hiding behind others when arms are called for, it was cowardly and I shoulder blame for the death of your man.

The enchanted short swords will come in handy for some, but they are not my preferred weapon.  In my opinion the boy Weasel should have one at least, it'll be better than whatever toys he was using before, but I will not use the other.

It's not a decision (other than for Uthecar not to carry one) and if anyone else wants them, by all means put your hand up, though apart from Myrrick I think the others are priests and a mage.  Do fighter priests have to use blunt weapons?  Probably not, but I forget the details without looking it up in the books.

"For me I fight with the ax, for better or worse.  You suggested a silvered weapon would have still served, in place of one that is enchanted.  Before we head out, do you know of a smith skilled enough to work on a dwarfs blade.  I do not wish to be embarrassed again, and a small amount of planning now might serve us well in the mission ahead."

After a night of wild dreams where he battles shape-changing harpies, Kullonar finally decides to get up. He says his prayers, requests his spells, and then finishes dressing and comes downstairs. The smell of sausage makes his mouth water and he gladly tucks in, eating as much as the dwarves. When he pushes back from the table, he asks something similar as Uthecar: "Do you think I could purchase silver bullets for my sling before we leave? While the way of the Cudgel forbids me use bladed weapons, I can still help combat these shape-changers with my sling, no?"

Myrrick apologizes again for his poorly timed arrival and performance during the battles. "I'll gladly use one of the swords, and I will NOT let you all down again. I cannot. Thank you for the meal Antonin... it is much appreciated sir."

The events of the night before still haunting him, shape shifters... very unsettling.

In reply to The Seer (msg # 71):

When things exploded they certainly exploded. Bruno had stood with everyone else when the bear had crashed into the room. It was slightly before this when Weasel made the first mention of 'weres' that he realized he not only lacked a magical weapon, but none of his were silvered. Then he recalled that his helm, as those of all clerics of Moradin, is silvered.

So, his hand quickly went from his crossbow to... His helm. He took it off and the next thought occurred, Now what are you going to do?

By the time he had gotten to this point the elves had done what they did and he saw Cook's tragic, but heroic end. He says little the remainder of the night, but he makes clear to Uthecar that he thinks his fellow dwarf's guilty feelings are inappropriate, "Enough with your guilt, warrior. All who were here that could act did so. Had our elven friends not brought the rats down, you would have been in there without doubt and your end would have been no less heroic.

"We saws a hero fall today and no one present failed to do all they could in the moment. That is the nature of heroism, I think."

Turning to Antonin he continues, "I speak for myself, but suspect I say what others here are thinking: I'll not pretend that I find things here a bit confusing. You've got agents planted as you should and the owners of this place, who came from the March, are wererats. Sorry that it ended this way, but I respect your forethought. This does not change my thinking about anything we were discussing before this latest fight.

"I shall see you on the morrow and be ready to undertake what has seemingly become an even more important mission."

He has no comment about the short swords, though Uthecar would have noted in their travel that along with his hammer Bruno also carries a battle axe.

Retiring shortly after he does as well as he can to sleep. His dreams are not clear and his sleep is not good, but he is up and ready early. Finishing his prayers he joins everyone else to break his fast. When his dwarven comrade and Kullonar bring up preparations for dealing with wererats in the future he nods, "A silver piece would work as good as a silver bullet in a pinch, I would think, Brother, but I agree with what both of you are saying. If nothing else a silvered dagger for each of us who've no other options should be obtained."

Zan will help with the clean up of the werebear and wererats

"Short sword isn't really my style, but if no one else will speak up for the second blade, I'll find some way to put it it use."  He gives the others in the group a knowing wink like he already had something in mind.

You all find Antonin and Selene remarkably prepared.  The Countess offers both priests 10 silver bullets apiece from her personal stock.  For his part the Baronet offers each bowman a quiver of 20 silver arrows (or 12 quarrels for crossbows).

"Let it not be said that we sent you on this quest unprepared," Selene said, and you all note the holy symbol of Ehlonna on a necklace at the hem of her tunic.

ooc: let me know who wants the other short sword.

Myrrick takes the arrows and the sword, "Most gracious of you both, my thanks." His thoughts drift to Rennar, the chase, the voice, the path... This was going to be a dangerous, grand adventure. It seemed he had a capable and ready group to join him. He was content, the ranger in him ready to see the wilds, the other part ready to find the treasures promised in keeps of legend like the fabled place they now sought.

Despite the bustle, it is mostly a quiet morning.  There is staff evident, a burly bartender with a crossbow and sword hanging on the wall behind him giving quiet, stern orders to the wait staff and the new cook.  The old Cook and the two wererats were consigned to the flame, the former receiving a modest benediction from Selene.

It's hard to fathom that 24 hours prior this was a bucolic town.  Now it's the genesis of adventure, a starting point and, perhaps, a point to return too once the travels are done.  Of course, little thought is given to that - the immediacy of your departure makes you all keenly aware that you're stepping into something far different than you've ever faced before.  Questions linger in each mind about the gathered:

-Will the young human stand his ground in the face of danger?
-Will the natural rivalry between dwarves and elves create dissent.
-Will the half orc's orcish half come to the for at inopportune times?

You are mostly quiet upon the initial stretch of the journey.  Myrrick leads you along the way, retracing his steps from the prior day's events.  You see the occasional body - goblinoids mostly, with an occasional bugbear.  Rennar's work, and Myrrick's heart swells with fondness for his wounded mentor.

At last, you come to a passage, well traveled, ascending toward the upper Rakers.  It is past midday - given your excitement, you forgot lunch, but now each of you are hungry.

ooc: a good stopping point - a map coming today or tomorrow.  May want to discuss tactics, ideas, thoughts, whatever. 
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:08, Mon 26 Sept 2016.

OOC: Bruno will take the +1 short sword and leave his battle axe with Antonin and Selene, if nobody else wants it.

Bruno gladly accepted the silver quarrels and it impresses him further that the elven noble was so prepared. That there is new and seemingly prepared staff in place so soon after the previous night's events is even more impressive. It implies that on this mission they are working with/for an organization that thinks ahead and as such that does not ensure success, but it certainly makes it seem more likely.

He also notes Selene's holy symbol. It implies that she too is a cleric, but one may never be sure. Regardless, to his mind he can not help but think that it is a good sign. That they came to this place not too many more than 12 hours before they depart without a specific purpose and now not only have an adventure, but one that is an actual mission. One of national importance. This makes things even more exciting.

On the road he is quiet, but once they stop for lunch he has a question or two in his mind. He asks Myrrick and Zan, "So, we have a map of the castle itself? I take it from Lady Selene's words that we really have no idea what to expect once we get there?"

Nodding to Bruno, "It is a place of legend, so yes, I think you are right, we should be as prepared for anything as we can possibly be. Seems Rennar did us many favors this past evening. We will not, can not let him down. Let us break for lunch, quick. Then back to the journey."

Zan took the offered silver tipped arrows, still having little to say.  He did occasionally stare at Selene with a perplexed look on his face.  He gave a polite smile to both Antonin and Selene upon the group's departure.  Giving a bow, and said two words to them in elven, "an coia"

Zan was quite as well on the journey, he observed his traveling companions.  He had discovered ones actions spoke as loud as words at times.

When the group had stopped for lunch and questions were asked.  "Yes, that would be correct. the castle was thought to be in ruins, but now something has taken up residence there most likely.  Given the size of our group, I'm fairly certain that storming the castle isn't the best of ideas.  We will need to work as a team like we did in the tavern.  I believe that we have a general idea of what each is capable of so I would suggest that we come to a general agreement on how we should align ourselves to handle different situations"

In reply to Zan Bruno nods, "You're asking for a marching order? Might I suggest that whatever the rest of you agree to, Kullonar and I ought to be in the midst of the party? This way we might use the spells with which St. Cuthbert and Moradin have graced us with best?"

"All right then how's this sound for a general marching order to the group.  We travel in pairs as four eyes are better than 2.  Uthecar and Myrrick to be in the lead, followed by Bruno and Kullonar, Weasel and I could bring up the rear."

General Marching Order

"We can try and scout out ahead when possible, Myrrick and I are able to move fairly quietly, and possibly Weasel" Zan looked at Weasel to get his input.

He then added "Also have a little friend nearby that can help us scout out things as well, she's a bit shy side.  In time she should warm up to the group."

Uthecar considers what the others have said before he speaks.  "There is nothing overly sophisticated about my methods.  I see a problem that can be fixed by an ax, and I fix it.  Very few problems can't be solved with repeated blows from an ax." he nods with conviction as if he really did believe his own words.

"I have been told the blood lust can get the better of me, so it makes sense I take a frontal position so others are not trampled in my keenness to solve our problems.  Whether I hold the position by myself or with another, I do not mind."

He considers the current situation at hand that involves the storming of the castle.

"I see no other workable method as exciting as a full frontal assault, but scouting first makes sense, especially with so few dwarves among our number."

As you settle in for a lunch of jerky, dried fruit and water, you discuss the rest of the day's plans, as well as what might be expected once you arrive.

"Can I see the map?" asks Weasel.  (as a matter of fact: check the map thread)

At last it is brought out, a small sketch roughly drawn.  Beneath Byrnir Height (to the left on the sketch) are elfin runes indicating a small depression filled with undergrowth.  A poorly stylized 'Q' seems to mark the location of the legendary hold.

"I think this order suits us given our respective abilities.", Bruno replies to Zan's suggestion.

When he refers to a shy little friend nearby he raises an eyebrow, the left, but does not inquire further as he takes another bite of jerky.

Looking over Weasel's shoulder he takes a swig of water and asks, "What do the runes there tell us?"

Myrrick sighed, "We will ikely have to make camp, the distance is greater than I anticipated... my retreat was at a sprint, not our current pace. I covered much more distance than I believed. We will need rest if we are to arrive fully prepared. As for the marching order, it makes sense to me."

Uthecar lets his pack drop from his shoulders, with a sigh of pleasure as a break is taken.  He quickly sits down and balances upon the pack his short pudgy legs up off the ground.  Sweat is upon his brow.

He enjoys the jerky, giving the fruit a miss.  He continues to munch away absentmindedly as the others discuss the map, only voicing an opinion when Myrrick mentions a camp.

"It is a wise idea, some look as if they need to keep their strength up."  It is probably obvious to all he is most at fault for the slow pace, but that's not how he is expressing it as he nods concern.  He takes out a water skin and takes a deep swig, gasping and making a face as he tastes the water inside.  "Aaarrghhh.  Water," he splutters resigned.

Zan couldn't help but crack a grin at Uthecar.

"I can help on either the first or last watch, that should still give me enough time to recover spells"

Back at the Full Pint, Kullonar accepts the silver sling bullets with a chuckle and a slight bow of his head. "Lady Selene. You are full of surprises."
He tucks the bullets in his belt, bows again to the elves, and moves off.

On the trail...
The break comes at just the right time. Kullonar drops his pack and wipes the sweat from his face and head with a pocket rag. The jerky tastes good and so does the water that washes it down. He chuckles at Uthecar and says, "When we next find a decent watering hole, the first round is on me."

He looks at the crudely drawn map and grunts in appreciation at the elven runes. "Such beautiful script. Wish I had the gift to read them."

"I'll take watch with Zan > either first or last, makes no difference."

"Middle is fine with me. Spell casters can rest at the beginning or end."

Fast forward:

You travel for several hours after lunch until dusk's slow creep warns you that the time is nigh to seek a worthy site to sleep.  You debate the merits of a fire - in the end decide it isn't worth the risk.

The evening is quiet, outside the occasional nocturnal calls of owls or growl of a hunting cat.  It is neither cold nor hot, actually a very pretty night, all things considered.  Still, by false dawn the air does feel of autumn, and the sun's eventual peek over the horizon is welcome.

The next day's travels are again uneventful.  By midday you finally come to the area marked by the elfin runes.  Myrrick recognized the area immediately - it was where Rennar had pushed him from the thicket, urging him good speed back to the inn while he led the merry chase.  You are not far from the keep now, perhaps another two hours.

ooc: actions, questions, thoughts?

Bruno asks Myrrick what he and Renner had seen here that made his mentor send him back to towards the inn, "Was it that you stumbled upon a patrol? A camp?"

Myrrick shook his head, "There were many gobblers, more than I've ever seen at once. Rennar must've felled a few dozen himself before returning to town. We found the trail, followed it to the ruins, when we entered the ruins... there was a voice, deep, and commanding. It was enough for Rennar to command a retreat. When we left the gobblers persued, if they came from the ruins or not, I cannot say for certain. This is where Rennar sent me off to town so he could lead the gobblers on a merry chase as he put it."

Running a hand through his beard to shake out the dust of the road Bruno responds, "Do you recall or were you able to even conceive of how well the gobblers were organized? From what you say what stopped you from within the ruins was some sort of protective 'Command' sort of spell. (Do you recall what the voice actually said?)

"But did it seem as if the gobblers were a fortifying force (were there any recognizable flags, or anything) or they had simply taken up residence in the past years?"

Myrrick paused, briefly as if trying to recall.


The voice said,

"WHO DARES ENTER THIS PLACE AND INTRUDE UPON THE SANCTUARY OF IT'S INHABITANTS?"  But moments later a second voice answered, "ONLY A GROUP OF FOOLHARDY ADVENTURERS DOOMED TO CERTAIN DEATH!"  The breathless silence lasted but moments before it was broken by both voices, "WOE TO ANY WHO PASS THIS PLACE - THE WRATH OF ZELLIGAR AND ROGAHN WILL FALL UPON THEM!"

"I did not see any flags or banners I recall, but I wasn't really looking. I didn't recognize the names immediately, it was enough to scare Rennar, and that scared me more than it should've."

"I do hope Rennar didn't go and get all the gobblers lost, they aren't too smart you know." He taps his great helm with his short chubby index finger of his right hand, as he makes what he thinks is the face of a simpleton, and quite capable of getting lost just to spoil all his fun.

"I wonder what tribe they were from, even the slain bodies appear to have been removed." he casually though knowledgeably observes as he looks about suspiciously with shifty eyes.

"Can you pick up a trail ranger?  So many should have left their mark, they care little for the wilds, and perhaps now they have been discovered an ambush is planned.  They aren't smart, but they are cunning little bastards." he says peering up at Myrrick, covering his eyes from the sun.

The message of the of the magic warning hollow to his concern, and simply safer to let those who might know speculate its meaning.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:06, Thu 29 Sept 2016.

Weasel had been unnaturally quiet in the ensuing hours.  He'd seen death before, but this was the first time someone who was kind to him - to whom he's had a bit of hero worship, truth be told - died.  He shed no tears, just walked along stolidly.  He could walk all day.  Run all day?  No, but he was young, lithe, and fit.

He had slept fitfully, ding his share of the work and standing his watch... though he was a bit vague as to what he was supposed to do other than yell, scream, and then spit whatever was attacking them upon his sword.

When he heard the magical voices, his flesh crawled a bit.  He knew little of magic and was only a bit heartened by the fact that he now traveled with people who did.

Weasel listened carefully.  "Are we foolhardy adventurers?  Or are we.... dedicated servants of the Lady of Ratik bound to do her bidding?  If we're the first, I say let's turn back.  If we're the second, we should have no problems, right?

"Cook used to say 'if you say something, say what you mean.'"  He grinned.  "Might be that the advocate kept me outta gaol a few times by using the words right, too."

Zan quietly listened to most of the conversations not having a whole lot to offer as the group traveled.  He rested and regained his spent spells.

Upon the group's arrival close to the ruins, his interest and concerns were a lot more on alert.  "Might be a good time to find a defendable spot and setup some sort of base camp.  Figure that we could do a bit of scouting to help figure out what we are up against."

"Uthecar and Bruno, think you can find a suitable spot for us.  Weasel you think you can setup a few traps and snares to help with defending the location, I can lend a hand as well, know a tricks myslef."  He gave Weasel a knowing wink.

"Myrrick, since we are close do you recall the general area that you in.  They would likely have scouts and we need to figure out where they are before they figure out where we are."

"Uthecar, figured you could help with any fortification or help make some of the traps a bit more lethal"

Uthecar nods that finding a defend-able spot for a camp was well within the dwarves means, and grins at the word lethal.  "I like your thinking elf-mage, I like it a lot.  Are you going to get precious if a few twigs get cut?"  He holds up his ax.  Given the size of the blade, and his bulging biceps, it is questionable how thin he considers a twig to be.

"You'll get no quarrel from me, unless you're considering chopping down a large portion of the forest."

Uthecar laughs a deep belly rumble, "Ha ha ha, Naaa just trying to give you the shits mage, to see how much of a tree hugger you are.  It's best we travel as lightly as we can through this area, there's no knowing who might be following our own trail, and there's no need to make it easy for them either."

Myrrick nodded, "I recall the area well enough, though it was night, and I was being chased by an army. I can scout to see if any are near. It wouldn't do to get ambushed on our second day out, now would it?"

Having prayed for spells, Kullonar travels along with the group, keeping quiet unless spoken to. He enjoys the wilderness scenery and often his thoughts stray to the tenets of the Cudgel.
Once the group stops, Kullonar likes the idea of a base camp to work out of. "A high, protected spot might work best. Would be nice if we set up camp with our backs to a cliff."

Kullonar then asks Myrrick, "Do you want some company as you scout around? None of us should go off alone out here."

"Kullonar, not trying to hurt your feeling, but with the shoes your wearing,  Well there not exactly built for being quite.  I'm sure that Weasle could use your help, with setting up some traps. "

Zan reached into he belt pouch, and brought out a small clove of ginger, he made a light clicking noise and held up the clove to the side.  He stepped away from the others a few paces.  "Ginger, where are you, come out come out"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:45, Fri 30 Sept 2016.

Myrrick nodded, "Another time Kullonar, I won't go far, do not worry over me. Maybe I can teach you to move quietly, when time permits."

When they set out again, Bruno has prayed for spells and is ready to go. He carries his crossbow ready for whatever will come next.

Kullonar looks at his boots and chuckles. "Ah, I see your point. I was never one for moving around too quietly. But I would like to learn, so maybe when all of this is over, Myrrick, you can teach me some things. Now, where's Weasel gotten off to?"

"I can set some snares and noise makers... I'm a little... small for be setting deadfalls and pits and stakes... well... I'm just glad I don't own a shovel.

"And let's not set up camp anywhere we can't skee-daddle out of.  I might be able to climb a cliff like I'm walking down the road... but Sir Dwarf might have a bit of a problem... Or maybe he could just tighten up all that brawn and he could bounce hither an' yon like an acorn on flagstone for a bit."

----------------------------

Once they're off, Weasel is wandering a bit, never having seen all that much of the world and he was getting tired of looking at the backs of the people he's tossed in with.  When he hears the half-orc's question, he pops over.  "Right here, Sir Cleric.  How may I be of service?  You need a dwarf beard shaved?  An elfin earlobe pinched?  Or just some zippy conversation because the rest of them are so boring?"

Uthecar had fallen silent, concentrating on the surrounds and looking for tracks in the ground as he moved ahead.  Though they were still some distance from the keep, it was time for greater caution to be taken, he didn't want to be caught unaware.

It took a little while before Ginger came fluttering in.  A miniutre crimson red dragon (or a lizard with wings) came and landed on Zan extended arm, coiling its tail around his arm.  "Took you long enough and no they are not dangerous they are good folk. Yes we are on a mission to figure out where those nasty orcs came from.  We could use your help." Zan gave the pseudodragon the ginger to eat.

"Everyone this is Ginger"

Asking of the miniutre dragon, "You think you could give Myrrick some help with scouting ahead, He could use some help looking around, we need to figure out what we are up against"

"Er...no, no shaving or pinching needed. Just wondered if you needed help laying some traps?"