Yala looked like she was about to answer Sularius when Markle yelled at her about Jasmine, causing her to frown. "Jasmine!"

Suddenly the black cat jumped from the bar, ran across the room and hopped on the table next to the table next to Yala. "I did not cause trouble. I just asked for a bowl of milk." The talking feline whined.

"Jasmine, you know Markle doesn't like you talking." She said, stroking her familiar's fur gently.

Jasmine just laid down. "Sorry." And began licking her paws cleaning them.

She rolled her eyes at Jasmine, then looked towards Sularius. "It can be. I brew a lot of the healing potions for my mothers temple. Sometimes there is enough work, sometimes there isn't. They look for the one's who are more capable to do the task or tasks required through a series of tests or or even something as simple as a list of deeds to show their capabilities in relation to what they are looking to have done."

Yarr had given the bit of meat over to the little cat as requested before it was called away by its 'creator'.

He then requested a mug of milk, and if provided walks over and hands it that cat with simply a tip of the hat to the cat and the table it had addressed, not injecting himself rudely into an ongoing conversation.


Unless stopped he would head out to the stables, plop the scraps down in front of his stabled riding dog, give him some wubbings, and then return to the bar to return the plate, ending up being fairly close to where Arnellia is at the bar through sheer coincidence rather than intent.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Fri 31 July 2020.

"Pretty knife for pretty little man. No, Maerk stay and join the choose for much win."

The big warrior stood, purposely jostling the table. He grinned wickedly, "Much luck pretty man, you will need..."

Maerk paused a moment, almost challenging the half-elf to escalate, before shrugging and turning toward the table of arguing adventurers.

In the distance a bell sounds from the town hall signaling that the call for heroes is about to begin shortly. A small crowd is already milling outside the building, waiting for the appointed time. In all, about 40 townspeople are congregated outside the building, chatting and passing the time until the meeting starts.

Everyone seems to be in a cheery mood and it is clear this is the highlight of the month for when the townsfolk get a brief taste of excitement and adventure vicariously through the applicants. Some locals have brought their children with them to meet any new heroes, and the youngsters are starstruck to meet adventurers who plan to step up to the challenges that might be at hand. Most of the townspeople are attending the meeting to keep up on the news of what troubles their neighbors, though some are specifically there out of curiosity to see which adventurers might step up.

While most of the townsfolk and adventurers waiting are in high spirits, there is a well-dressed goblin pacing right outside of the front doors of the building with a serious look on her face. This studious‑looking goblin has her hands clasped behind her back, and she’s mumbling to herself, oblivious to all those who stand nearby.

"My Bumblebrashers," she laments in a distraught tone. "Why haven’t I heard from my Bumblebrashers? Are my people trapped in the citadel?"

Tarindlara is waiting with the others, a vision of beauty weaving gracefully through the crowds of townspeople. When she sees Yalandlara she waves excited, rushing over to give her daughter a big hug.

"So this is it, is it? Are you really going to put your name forward to the Call?"

Nezaglomie hops down from the stool and heads out of the building to where the applicants are gathering.  She spots the goblin woman pacing outside the front doors and looks upon it with disgust.  Za thinks she recognizes the markings on its clothing, but she is not sure until the creature speaks.  "My Bumblebrashers," it laments in a distraught tone. "Why haven’t I heard from my Bumblebrashers? Are my people trapped in the citadel?"

A small ball of flame appears, almost unbidden, in the gnome's hand, but she resists throwing it.  "Perhaps they are still licking their wounds from your failed attempt to attack Loxellithan last month," she spits out.  "Just go back to Citadel Altaerein and continue to play at being Hellknights.  Or just return to eating your own young and leave civilized people alone."

The crowd gasps as the gnome expresses her hostility and the goblin sputters and stutters.

"But...but that wasn't us! That isn't us! We're peaceful!"

Several in the crowd look on with horror at Nez's bigotry and violent threats and a few of the guard start positioning themselves in case they have to intervene in a fight.

With an obvious effort of will, Nezaglomie straightens her fingers and lets the ball of flame dissipate.  She looks up at the guards, who have clearly been put on alert, and slowly lowers her hand to her side, her fingers and arms still rigid with tension.  "Peaceful," she snorts.  "Oh, I'm sure.  And I'll be winning the strong man competition today."

Quivering with rage, Za turns her back on the goblin and strides over to where the other competitors are gathering, standing next to Sularius.  She turns on her heel and looks back at the goblin, her voice filled with venom, "My little cousin, not 5 years old, was killed in a gobble'un raid last year.  WE. NEVER. FOUND. HER. BODY."  The gnome turns away again, her hands in rigid fists at her side, with small flames leaking out from them.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:37, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

Yarr raises his hands in a 'everyone settle down' gesture, speaking to the crowd that seems to be rattled and the guards, "Now, now, boyos and lasses, I'm sure she's got 'er reasons for hatin'. Poor lass might have lost people to bad 'uns. Ah've encountered a few bad eggs of me kind meself. Though the eatin' chilren thing was uncalt fer. I dunno if my kinda dun that in ages."

OOC: Diplomacy 11 (barring any modifiers for a goblin being the one saying to calm down.

Effective or not, Yarr would stride over to Warbal, "Ne'ermin' the poor thing an' try not to 'old it agains' 'er. Wuts this mummblin' about not 'earin' from yer tribe?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

She waves excitedly back to her mother, with a smile. "Yes mother. I want to answer the Call this year. I have, wanderlust like you always talked about, and paint. So this is how I want to answer it, by going on an adventure, even if it's just one and done." She answered her mother softly, as she returned her hug. "I may have to borrow a healing kit though if they accept me. I don't have one, and I think I'll have a better chance of getting accepted as a healer since that my skill's."

Then she Lady Warbal's alarming cry, followed Za's rebuke. "Mom, did something happen at the old keep?" As the back and forth continued between Za and Warbal Yala would push away from her mother. "I'll...be back."

Yala walked up to Lady Warbal, and knelt down in front of her. [Language unknown: "Ast ast ugh Wil Unleev? Lahat eihoenho a al Fieialmant'anta?"]

She then looked back towards Za. "The goblin's around here are peaceful, have been for some time. We in Breachill even trade with them. So you may want to start building up your strength, or have a lot of coin in your pocket to pay off any competitor's, because she speak's the truth."

Nezaglomie, with tears streaming down her face, silently locks eyes with Yalandlara.  The gnome's expression is unreadable, but the clench of her jaw is unmistakable -- some strong emotions are coursing through her.  Perhaps she doesn't even know what those emotions are, exactly.

"Za, come, meat Lady Warbal for yourself." She said softly, she said softly to Nexaglomie holding her hand out to her. "You will find she is not like the one's you've met, and that she herself even denounces them and denounces violence."

Warbal seems happy to talk to anyone other than the gnome glaring at her from across the plaza.

"I live in town to help talk between my tribe and the town. Typically, every two weeks I meet with Helba, the tribe’s chieftain, on the road outside the keep. We discuss news, and I convey the town’s interests and hear any concerns that the tribe might wish me to bring before the council. It is a relationship of utmost importance, and Helba is normally punctual. But she has missed our previous two meetings, and I have seen plumes of smoke coming from the top of the citadel. The smoke is a chalky red in color—the tribe’s traditional color of distress.

I fear that the Bumblebrashers are in danger, or that something dire has befallen them. It has sickened me with worry."

She looks over and points and sure enough there is smoke rising up from the faint outline of the citadel. The color is definitely debatable at this distance as it seems more white than red but that could just be the distance involved.

Having exited the tavern along with everyone else, Sularius had been witness to the pleas from the goblin as well as the gnomish woman's blatant hostility towards the creature. While he could completely understand the gnome's reaction, he knew more than a few stories that matched her own experience, he had to doubt a goblin as articulate as this one would be part of such activities.

But it wasn't the confrontation that caught his attention, or even the topic of the goblins themselves; no, it was mention of the Citadel. He moved closer to listen to the goblin woman, and nodded his head in agreement, "Yes, that is quite disconcerting. We should form a party to investigate the situation at the Citadel at once."

Warbal nodded.

"Yes, yes that's why I'm here. I'm not the only one with problems though so it will be up to the council to decide who gets to go but I hope someone like you who cares gets picked...you know...as opposed to..."

The goblin's eyes drifted over in the direction of the angry gnome next to Sularius.

"Ah dunneed a council te tell me I can answer a call to adventure when good'n'peaceful folks er clear in danger. If ther' sig'ling fer 'elp I'm of a mind to march o'er there and see wut the mess is about. A fine lass'r two is bound to be grateful up there if ah save 'em and that be plenty incentive."

He turns to Sularius, "If'n yer 'eadin' that way ye'll 'ave me sword fer 'elp. It's nah a pretty thing, but the same canna be said for me skills wid it. Those be prettier than even ma face and that be saying a lot."

Yarr smirks, "I canna call meself a 'venturer if I dun have the sauce fer derring-do and savin' good folk na canna? The council can sort the coin later."

That second bit is said clearly in a tone and at a volume to gently prod others into joining the party in the quest.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:19, Mon 03 Aug 2020.

A thin half-elven woman with long blonde hair looks down at Yarr nervously. She clears her voice to get his attention.

”Uhhh, nobody is doubting your...uh...adventurous spirit....uh...noble...goblin, but that isn’t how it works around here. The council vets and grants adventurers the authority to do...well...adventuring....in these parts. While we...the people of Breachill...are...uh....very thankful for the services your noble...kind...provide things can also get...uh...a bit...well...chaotic if it’s not done properly.”

The nervous woman seemed to instantly regret calling attention to herself, looking around pleadingly for another townsfolk to back her up. She seemed very uncomfortable suddenly being the center of attention.

Luckily for the nervous woman the elven beauty dressed in the regalia of Shelyn was there to her rescue. With a voice as soft and smooth as silk and light as the morning dew Tarindlara smiled at Yarr and took over.

”What Voz is trying to say is that there have been problems in the past where adventuring companies have come into conflict over who has the right to explore and scavenge what ruins or fight which monsters or bandits. We want the adventurers to be focused on fighting the evils around us, not one another. So please respect our custom and honor our wishes by listening to the council. You will get a chance to make your credentials known and they, in their wisdom, will assign the adventurers out to the missions best suited for their abilities. This way everyone wins and nobody has grounds to come into conflict with one another.

Mighty goblin, I am sure your sword will be needed and the council will send you on a worthy quest.”

"Thank you..." Arnellia says with a gentle smile, then leans in to whisper, "between you and me, I'm still kind of new at this...and I prefer the taste of wine."

She giggles...sharing secrets was fun, and wow that was quick.  Usually she could have at least two or three drinks before getting all giggly.  Maybe she should have ordered some food as well.

She was about to ask for some stew, when she realized the bar was empty.  And realized that she should be out there too.   Sheepishly, she wandered out to see what the fuss was about (bottle of wine in tow).

She nudges the pretty elf with the cat, "Hey...what's going on?  What'd I miss?"

"Then we will see to it that your pleas get heard at the council chamber's Miss Warbel. I'm sure they will send someone to investigate." Yala said with a small nod to her. "So, lift your head and have hope. Okay?"

Nezaglomie looks with disbelief at the beautiful elf woman's invitation.  Come meet Lady Warbal ... As if she were a regular person.  And this elf calling me 'Za' like we were siblings.  The world is filled with more strange things than I had imagined when I left our little village.  I expected strangeness to take the form of bizarre monsters, crazed out-worldly things, but instead it is elves who have lost their sense.

The gnome is still trying to wipe the tears of anger from her face when someone hands her a handkerchief.  She accepts it gladly, not even seeing who had handed it to her.  She notices that it has some bits of ... something? ... stew, perhaps, on it, so she subtly casts Prestidigitation to clean it before wiping her face.  When she is finished with it, she casts the spell again and looks around to see to whom to return it, but she sees no one looking at her expectantly.

The huge Ulfen warrior gave the half-elf another hard glare and exited the Inn with the rest of the crowd. As Taldane was not his native tongue, and there being many different accents represented among the forming throng, Maerk only caught about every third word... enough to get the general meaning of things, but sometimes feelings got lost in translation in the big man's mind.

He looked the little gnome over with a dubious expression. "No." he said finally, "Maerk will win strong conn-tes." It was a statement of fact, exhibiting not the least braggadocio, only a firm confidence. The Ulfen people loved all forms of competition, especially the physical, and Maerk was certain that he'd win any such contest due to the fact that he was a good head taller than most everyone else he'd seen in town thus far.

He wasn't sure why the gnome was crying, nor what the conflict was with the she-goblin, but there was something about brush-fires and red smoke, and in the big man's experience that meant something was wrong in yonder ruin.

When the swarthy little goblin chap spoke up, Maerk's face broke into something of a grin, revealing several chipped and broken teeth. Life among the Ulfen was anything but gentle, and a career as a mercenary from the age of manhood only added to the tally of physical scars.

"We fight brush-fires, then make choose?" he asked the beautiful elven woman who had spoken, for it made sense to him to solve the immediate problem before the contests began.

He glanced at the gnome and made a crushing motion with his hands, followed by a subtle nod. The gesture might well convey that Maerk didn't really have a grasp on the social implications of the situation.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:18, Mon 03 Aug 2020.

Just then another bell sounds and the guards open the double doors leading to the great hall. A stern, dark-haired woman with a deeply furrowed forehead and kind eyes in rather fancy robes was standing in the threshold and spoke to the assembled crowd.


"Mage's blessing be upon you all! It is time, once again, for the Call of Heroes. Please enter and be seated!"

The crowd gives a shout of "mage's blessing upon you" and everyone turns to enter and be seated while the children run off to play.

---

The woman leads the crowd into the town hall and to the council chamber, the entrance
of which is just past the main hallway. A few guards are stationed at the entrance but they don't appear particularly attentive, instead smiling and chatting with their friends and family as they pass on by. This seems to be the general attitude of the local guard which speaks volumes towards the overall safety and sanctuary that is Brachill.

The room is set up like a large auditorium, nearly 100' x 150' in size. A carpeted walkway runs down the middle separating several rows of benches into two sections. The carpet leads to a small set of steps and a raised dais. On the dais is a large desk separated into five parts, where the Breachill Town Council’s five members are seated, talking quietly with one another as they wait for the meeting to start. The woman who led the way takes her place at the middle of the table.

On the desk, situated in front of each chair, are tarnished bronze plaques bearing the names
of the council members. From east to west, the names are Jorsk Hinterclaw, Melma Ann Sendari, Greta Gardania, Trini Sprizzlegig, and Quentino Posandi. Melma, Greta, and Quentino are humans, Jorsk is a dwarf, and Trini is a gnome.

There are several minutes of commotions as those entering find seats and get comfortable. A few townsfolk go up to the dais to have a few words with a councilor before the meeting starts in earnest.

---

With a sharp rap from her gavel onto the desk, the woman who led the processional and whose plaque identified her as Greta, brought the crowd to a hush.

"Welcome, neighbors and friends..." the dark-haired woman begins, her rich voice washing over the room, "...to the Breachill Town Council’s monthly Call for Heroes. I am Council President Greta Gardania, at your service. On behalf of my colleagues beside me, I promise you all that we will hear and consider today’s petition with the utmost discretion and care. There is no existence without community, as our town charter says.

Before we hear any petitions can those looking to answer the Call of Heroes please stand and make their presence known."

Around the hall a few people stand up. The young man who seemed addled in the head throwing rocks at the fireplace stood up, much to the laughter of the rest of the crowd. The half-elf swordsman who had brandished the fiery dagger stood and so did a group of three and a group of four adventurers respectively, all the ones seen at the tavern earlier.

With a laugh Greta looks down at the young man.

"The council acknowledges Jarmin, the mighty. I'm sorry but I don't think we have anything for a knight of your caliber today, Jarmin."

The young man laughs along with the rest of the crowd and sits down, grinning from ear to ear.

Greta nods towards the trio adventurers, the tiefling, half-elf, and dwarf who had been stabbing the table with knives.

"The council recognizes the Company of Rend. Welcome back."

The tiefling raises a hand in a theatrical display triggering sparks and flashes of magic in the air.

"Always happy to help."

The councilor turns towards the quartet who seem to be struggling to keep the goblin from jumping out of his seat and talking. Both the human and gnome have their hands clamped over his mouth.

"The council recognizes the Heroes of Kreed..."

Before she can continue the goblin wiggles free and starts screaming.

"No! We're the Nobby Knights! The Nobby Knights!"" but the rest of his protests are silenced as the other three all clamp down on him. The councilor just laughs and nods.

"Of course, Sir Nobby. No matter your name this month, your heroics precede you."

She glances at the swordsmen as well as the remaining adventurers...OOC: I.e. you guys and smiles.

"And for those who we have not yet met we welcome you and thank you for answering our call. For petitions we have four today. Citizens, if you would please proceed."

A farmer from the the north stands up and approaches the front of the room, hat in hand. He turns and nervously addresses the crowd.

"Aye everyone. I'm Lorki, as you know. I run a farm up North. We grow turnips mostly. Some grains but really its turnip soil. I tried telling that to the missus but she insists we try...oh yeah nevermind that. Anyway my route to the market passes by the old outpost up there and it seems something sinister's moved in. Bandits by the look of them. Maybe a dozen, maybe more. Look to be up to no good that."

He goes on to explain the shadowy figures he saw and the councilors take a moment to confer before Greta bangs her gavel.

"Company of Rend, I believe bandit hunting is your specialty, is it not?"

The tiefling gives a smile and as deep a bow as the tight benches would allow.

"Of course. It would be our pleasure. The standard rate then?"

The councilor nods and bangs her gavel. The three adventurers depart with the farmer and the next petitioner steps up. This one looks to be a merchant and she speaks with much more confidence than the farmer before her.

"Greetings one and all. For those who do not know I am Tilaxis, owner of Traveling Tilaxis' Tinctures and Tonics. I was traveling from the West and made camp near the elven ruins about twelve miles down the road. Normally we never have any trouble there but that night something came out of the ruins and killed two of my guards before dragging the bodies down into the depths."

She turned to speak to the Heroes of Kreed.

"Do you remember that room in the back with all the totems in it? We followed the blood trail and something had dug up through the floor. Turns out there's some kind of secret tunnel leading to the caverns, possibly even as deep as the Darklands."

The four all looked at one another and even the goblin shut up. All four then turned to look at the councilor who nodded and banged her gavel.

"Heroes of Kreed...I mean the Nobby Knights. You chased out that orc tribe from there in the winter so you are obviously familiar with it. It is important to find out what new threat might have risen up from the depth. We will offer the standard rate for exploration: 10 gold pieces if you can recover the bodies of the dead guards so they may be buried in peace and 10 gold pieces if you can slay whatever it is that attacked them."

The Heroes all smile and nod before departing with the merchant.

"Our third petitioner is Miss Warbal, our very own ambassador to the Bumblebrashers of Hellknight Hill. Please step forward and address those still gathered."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:24, Mon 03 Aug 2020.

At this summons, Warbal emerges from the front row of benches. The well-dressed goblin woman makes her way to the foot of the dais's steps. She clears her throat and begins her address to the council and the gathered town.

"Uhhh...Mage's blessings upon you. Yes. yes. Right. Esteemed councilors," she speaks in a frazzled tone. "It has been more than a month since I’ve been able to contact the Bumblebrashers. I fear that something terrible has befallen them. What's more, I have seen my people's distress signal coming from the top of the Citadel and I fear the worst has befallen them. As you know...on occasion...the ruins become home to some less than desirable inhabitants. Please I ask for a party to be sent to discover the source of their distress and the reason why they have not met with me for so many weeks. Ummm...that is all. Thank you."

The goblin nervously bows to the councilors and the townsfolk repeatedly, bobbing up and down like a buoy in stormy waters before making her way back to her seat.