It's a busy night at the Trollop and Troll in Westbank. Although still midweek, the old tavern's tables are almost full with patrons. Several regulars are seated at the bar, including a pair of grumpy locals known as George and Geoff. Some say the two were sitting there before the tavern was even built and the building was somehow erected around them. While this has never been proven, it is a given that the two men are as permanent a part of the tavern as the bar itself.

The tables are filled with a mix of locals and visitors. Many of the locals are stopping in for a drink and a story after a day's work at the mill, while the visitors hail largely (but not entirely - more on that below) from a trade caravan recently arrived from Alaka with stone and ore from the northern mountains.

The tavern is run by a lanky man with a hooked nose named Samuel. His prices are fair and his tavern, while not spotless, is in good order. It is said Samuel has little patience for trouble in his establishment, and stories are told of the day he threw (literally) three unruly barbarians from the Trollop and Troll.

In the corner there sits a wizened old man puffing on a pipe. He observes the goings on quietly, almost invisibly, from behind a smoky cloud.

On the more notable side, a stranger from the south revels with any and all he can find. The stranger is a tabaxi, which is quite an unusual site this far to the north. Westbank is largely human, although it is not unusual for an occasional dwarf from the northern mountains or elf form the Wildwood to find themselves in town. Tabaxi, on the other hand, are a rare sight, indeed. Many in Westbank have never seen one before, although George and Geoff remember a few years back when a pair of them passed through on their way to Stonehaven.

Presently, the tabaxi is seated with three curious millworkers who have purchased their strange associate a drink. The first millworker, Tovar, is a rugged man with thick, dirty hair and a thoughtful eyes. He is full of questions, and as the drinks add up, his curiosity only deepens.

"Soooo you're a tabaxi, eh? I ain't never heard of them before. You got any brothers or sisters or you the only one?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Across the way, an elf relaxes at a table awaiting a beverage after a rather hurried journey to Westbank from his former home in the Wildwood. While an occasional elf is nothing new to the Trollop and Troll, he is presently the only one.

After a few moments, a portly barmaid delivers the elf a drink with an honest smile, "Here you go, hon." She sets the drink on the table and smiles again. "You know, the last time we had elves here at the tavern, they were a musical group. They played a few songs and it was just beautiful. Do you play an instrument?"

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

An honest to goodness Tabaxi. In the flesh and at your service. I am known as Fire Star of the Lazaret. Just Lazaret to those who know me well.

Brothers and sisters? I had several. Lost at sea, I'm afraid.

Have you ever been at sea? Really far out on the open water that is? It is not a place for the faint of heart or wobbly of knee. The waves and the storms have a mind of their own. One time my ship was all but adrift in still waters and no wind for days. The heat was oppressive and the sun beat down so hard that our eyes played tricks on us. Was that another ship on the horizon? Perhaps a whole fleet? No. A sea serpent over there?! It was enough to drive a strong man absolutely mad. Then, suddenly, a small cool zephyr brought relief, albeit temporary, to every sweaty brow on board. The main sail slowly filled and we were on our way again. But the gentleness of that first wind did not last and soon the masts strained under the gale that blew. Waves grew and grew. From rolling swells to giant breakers. Our ship was tossed about like a child's toy in a barrel.

The wind threatened to topple our bark. We had to take down the sails, but the main sheet was stuck. I leaped into action pouncing onto the main mast and climbing to the very top as the ship rocked with greater and greater intensity. Only through the strength of my claws and sheer will was I able to brave the wind and reach the top freeing the sail. The wind was no longer an issue, but the waves were still huge and threatened to destroy us all. Every man on board grabbed onto whatever they could. Many of our numbers were tossed overboard never to be seen again. I was one of the lucky ones and lived to sail another day. My family, sadly, was not so lucky. I miss them and always will.

(What wonderful smoke rings and shapes that man is blowing! What is that pipe made of? I must hold it and find out...)

Tovar and his friends lean forward as their strange new drinking companion spins tales of his adventures at sea. Tovar stares with mouth agape, although one might wonder whether his near paralysis is in response to the story he is hearing or the storyteller he is seeing. Both are, to say the least, unusual for Westbank.

"I..." he stutters. "I ain't never been in the sea before. Or on it, I mean. Ain't never been in it or on it." He pauses for a moment while wrapping his brain around the story. "Ain't cats afraid of the water?"



OOC: Lazaret, please use the dice roller to make a persuasion roll and post the result with your next response... don't forget to include your proficiency bonus.

In reply to DM (msg # 3):

Cats are afraid of water. I am a Tabaxi. I fear nothing.

14:22, Today: Lazaret rolled 21 using 1d20+5. Persuasion.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Sun 12 Mar 2017.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

After quickly slipping from a caravan wagon unseen, Thorfire quietly enters the tavern.  He finds a table in a dark corner and orders a tankard of ale.  He studies the other patrons.  He pays special attention to the guy smoking the pipe and the barmaid (of course).  While drinking his second ale, he thinks to himself..."What the Fuck is with that Cat Dude?!?"

18:52, Today: Thorfire Shortankard rolled 10 using 1d20-1 Nature Check to see what the hell the Cat Dude is...
This message was last edited by the player at 23:54, Sun 12 Mar 2017.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

Well, m'lady, there are some of my kinsfolk who know their way around the lute and lyre but I am more skilled with the blade. Celador pulls back his grey wool outer cloak and reveals the long sword at his side.

I can't say that I am planning to hang around this place to long if it doesn't get a little more lively than this. Looks around the tavern

What do you do for fun around here? Just then, Lazaret catches his eye.

Hey, now that guy looks like he could throw a good party! I have heard of such a race of cat-folk but can't say I've ever seen one in the flesh. Gestures the barmaid to lean in a little closer.

Tell me, beautiful, what do you know about him?

Tovar and friends roar with approval and laughter at the tabaxi's witty reply. One bangs his mug repeatedly on the table while the other slaps Tovar on the back and shouts, "Bring this fearless cat another ale!"



Meanwhile, on the other side of the tavern, a halfling has discreetly found his way to a quiet table. Like the tabaxi, he is new to Westbank, but his arrival is marked with significantly less fanfare, which is his preference.

Thorfire has, in fact, met a tabaxi or two in his days in the south. Even so, the sight of a walking, talking cat is still strange to say the least. Stranger still is the way he seems to have captivated the table, undoubtedly with a mix of silver tongue and excessive alcohol. Thorfire concludes that luck is on his side today, for with such a spectacle across the tavern, it is unlikely that anyone will even notice him.



Finally, at yet another table in this ever-busier tavern, another outsider, this one an elf, takes notice of the tabaxi and his audience as they cheer another of his stories.

"Oh my," the bar maid blushes at Celador's compliment. "I can't say that I know much. He arrived earlier today on the caravan from Wellwood. Some men in here earlier complained that he stowed away and should be held accountable for that." Her discussion is interrupted by another ovation from the noisy table. "But it doesn't look like anyone's too upset about it anymore.

A thousand thank yous to all my new friends! The mountains are quite strange to me. The seas and the lowlands I know quite well, but the heights here...well. They are something to behold. The ale you enjoy is unparalleled and is quite befitting of the high altitude.

Tell me of these mountains! Each peak I see is higher than the last. I wish to climb them all. What other adventure awaits on these majestic slopes?

(That smoking man never seems to put his pipe down. I'm sure he'll have to do so soon.)

In reply to DM (msg # 7):

Celador leans in a little closer to the barmaid, but not too close

Well I would very much like to meet this gregorian stranger from Wellwood. But before I go over there I have one other question for you my dear, um, I'm sorry I don't think you gave me your name?
This message was last edited by the player at 04:10, Mon 13 Mar 2017.

"The name is Mattis," the bar maid giggles, blushing again. "Mattis Bumbleford."





"Oh there ain't many who journey to the mountains," Tovar's companion informs his new tabaxi friend. "'Tis a fools errand if you ask me. Further north, north of Cathid, there are dwarves. They mine and trade with us here. But the foothills and mountains over the river from Alaka are filled with less pleasant creatures. I wouldn't climb those mountains if I were you."




By the time Therarak Gemfinder enters the Trollop and Troll, the tavern is packed. He scans the room in search of an empty seat, there being no empty tables. There are a few at the bar, next to a couple of grumpy men who the gnome can tell are regulars. As for tables, most are crowded with large groups, but three seat only a single patron. One is an elf, presently flirting with the barmaid. The second is a Halfling, who eyes the room with some level of suspicion. The third is an old man, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe while observing the antics of a fairly loud group across the way.

The journey here from Bergamquartz has been a long one, and the final caravan ride from Wellwood ate up almost all of what was left of his savings. While he still isn't sure it was wise to push into The Northlands, he wasn't exactly encouraged by the distrust many "civilized" folks had in his adventures so far in the south. So here he is.

A fool's errand is often the start of an amazing journey! Rarely has glory and adventure been attained by avoiding danger.

Surely someone has been foolish enough to brave these wilds and has returned to tell the tale? Who is the greatest fool to come into this establishment? I would love to hear a story about this individual. Perhaps one day I will tell the same tale in another town in another land and a young child will be inspired to visit these mountains and challenge these wilds. Tell me your tales!

In reply to DM (msg # 10):

Mattis, what a lovely name, tell me, Mattis, there is a very curious gentleman at that far table, the one smoking the pipe, he looks like a man of business and I am a man in need of temporary employment. Do you know what he does for business?

As Celador pauses and awaits an answer his mind and his attention return to the cat person in an attempt to overhear the tales being told.

-wait, is that a gnome that just walked in?!- Celador thinks to himself

In reply to Celador Qiris (msg # 12):

Thorfire overhears the elf flirting with the barmaid. His question about the old guy smoking in the corner and potential employment piques his interest. I am going to need a lot of coin to gather information on the killers, create new identities and bribe henchmen before I get my revenge he whispers to himself.... Maybe the old man has a score to settle and needs some help with the wet work.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:44, Tue 14 Mar 2017.

Tovar's friend pats him on the shoulder again. "Why that would be Tovar," he jabs, with a wide smile and a deep guffaw. As the man laughs, so do the other mill workers gathered around them. By now the crowd has grown from three to at least eight.

Tovar interrupts the heckling before it starts up again. "No. The biggest fool is the boy Kevril. Leaves home, joins a pack of bandits, then comes back to town last night hollerin' 'bout a hooded man."

Several of the friends nod in agreement. "That's right," the back slapping friend agrees. "Bigger fool than Tovar."




"That there is Zelgor. He comes around every once in a while, but I've seen him more lately than usual." She pauses to consider Celador's question. "And you know, now that you mention it, I have no idea what he does for business. Says he's from Podu, but never says much more about himself than that."




As Thorfire glances over to the old man, he finds that the man is staring back at him. From behind a cloud of smoke, Zelgor nods as if to say I know you're watching me, young halfling. I am watching you, as well.

Ahh! Runaways. Bandits. Hooded men and mountain intrigue! These are the stories I crave to hear.

Tovar, my friend, I'm sure you are no fool; I've met many fools in my travels. Now this Kevril. Is he nearby? I'd love to hear about his encounter with the hooded man.

I remember a hooded man I met once in Waterdeep. He was slinking among a crowd who had gathered for the Spring Celebration. He wore a dirty, grey, hooded cloak and was clutching some sort or object or parcel in his arms under his cloak. I was in the employ of my patron, The Duke, working as his personal security advisor. This hooded man kept moving closer and closer through the crowd. Moving between the happy revelers with a steely look in his eyes. I spied him and quickly weaved through the celebrants to intercept him before he could get any closer to my employer. I was able to catch him quickly and completely by surprise - I'm rather nimble, you see.

As I put a paw on the fellow's shoulder, he, or should I say, she whips around and her hood falls exposing her long red hair and her cloak opens to reveal a sleeping baby. Well this was not at all what I was expecting, and, upon further investigation, I see that the babe has the same piercing blue eyes as my patron!

Well we did not need any sort of public embarrassment on the day of the Spring Celebration! I quickly escorted the young lady away to a local establishment and we had a lovely chat about the protocol of such goings on. I assured her that my patron would make, how do I put this delicately, reparations? After nearly an hour's worth of conversation she signed the proper forms that I wrote up for the Duke to use in such situations. I handed her a not insubstantial sack of coins and she was on her way.

She gave me this small child's rattle as a token of good will.

(Lazaret reaches into his pack and produces a small brass toy.)

A sweet gesture on her part. I rather like how the light catches it and the pleasing sound it makes when shaken.

After staring at the toy for a minute:

Does anyone here sing? I play a passable flute. Perhaps a drinking song?!
This message was last edited by the player at 11:54, Tue 14 Mar 2017.

Therarak Gemfinder sits down at the table with the Halfling.

Tell me fellow small one, are these Hu-mans as strange to you as they are to me?

In reply to Therarak Gemfinder (msg # 17):

The humans seem strange, but I think tabaxi is nuts...although somewhat entertaining
This message was last edited by the player at 04:02, Wed 15 Mar 2017.

"Oh he's nearby all right," one of the crowd around Lazaret's table confirms. "He's in the dungeon."

"Yeah," another adds. "He got arrested for highway burglary. Now he's awaiting the noose. It's the wrath of Sister Gwendelon."

"Poor dumb kid," Tovar concludes. "He shoulda' knowed better."



Meanwhile, amidst all the festivities, Celador, Therarak, and Thorfire hear what sounds like sobbing from another table, one located next to the mysterious pipe somking man. At the table, there sits a woman and three men. Details of the conversation can not be heard, but the woman appears to be upset. The men look across the table at one another, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders. The woman reaches across in desperation as the three stand to leave her. In spite of her efforts, they depart, staring at their feet as they head toward the door.

Next time I'm going to let you make your own perception checks. Mine were lousy!
00:14, Today: DM, on behalf of Thorfire Shortankard, rolled 7 using 1d20+2.  Perception check.
00:14, Today: DM, on behalf of Therarak Gemfinder, rolled 8 using 1d20+3.  Perception check.
00:13, Today: DM, on behalf of Celador Qiris, rolled 9 using 1d20+3.  Perception check.

(Singing while rhythmically rapping on the table.)

Lift your glass for Kevril then pour me another!
Lament his demise, but shed a tear for his mother.
Her boy will be gone when sun's at its highest.
And Sister Gwendolin's eyes, well they'll be the driest.

With a hey, hey be on the look out for danger.
And a hey, hey buy a drink for a stranger.
With a hey, hey push away all your anger.
And a hey, hey buy a drink for a stranger.

Climb up on a mountain and sing 'til tomorrow.
When the hangman awakes our hearts fill with sorrow.
The thick woods of the Northlands are sadder today.
By sundown may our fears be driven away.

With a hey, hey be on the look out for danger.
And a hey, hey buy a drink for a stranger.
With a hey, hey push away all your anger.
And a hey, hey buy a drink for a stranger.

In reply to Thorfire Shortankard (msg # 18):

While I can not attest to his sanity, I do know that he talks too much.

After an inordinately long pause consumed by nothing in particular. He continues.

Are you a newcomer as well?