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.

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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.

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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