It is a late spring evening, a warm breeze floats through the Sleeping Owl even as the rain turns the roads outside into an impassable morass. The usual riff-raff is here tonight - farmers, laborers, loose women looking for entertainment, everyone looking for company, game, or drink. Not necessarily in that order.

On the closer tables sit the regulars, who talk about the day's work at their farms or mills, and the state of their favorite bulls and cows. The guards have their own table against the far wall, next to the fire. They are granted that perk for having to work late at nights in the cold. A special table is reserved for the women who come in, specially the married ones. They are left to their own. On the other side of the room sits the priestess of Chariss, in the company of the one wizard in town, a man usually dressed in somber dark robes with a large hood. They make a strange pair, her youthful beauty in contrast to his old grizzled beard and long unkempt gray hair. While her eyes shine with kindness and compassion, his evaluate everyone and everything they lay on, giving you the feeling that there is something hidden he was seeking to guard against.

And then there's you.

You have a few spare tables to yourselves, reserved for the "new blood". There seems to be many of you here tonight, recently arrived from the eastern road and looking for a place to stay. The Sleeping Owl is a large tavern. Whoever built it had enough foresight to believe it would have to host many souls in their travels. And he was right.

As you sit on the stiff wooden bench which runs the length of the table, a bar maid strolls by with trays in her hand, heading for another table.

"Be rig't wi't you, lads, lasses. 'ts a busy nig't t'is one, w'at wi't t'e rain and all. Stay warm, is w'at I say. Find a good set of arms around yea, and keep 'em t'ere."

Her inviting demeanor played well off her buxom curves, but everyone in here knew that Larissa already had all the company she wanted, being the blacksmith's wife. Still, she is a rumpy woman who enjoys men's attention. But you wouldn't dare cross her. She would brain you with a iron skillet before you knew it.

As you sit there at the table, surrounded by faces you haven't seen before and the din of loud drinking, bad singing, and a boisterous game of dice, you take notice of the people who share your table.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:22, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

The usual riff-raff is here tonight ...

Sitting among them is a garrulous elf with an easy smile and a mischievious twinkle in his eye.  Young as his type go, he is dressed in the latest urban fashion, if plainly, in shades of green and brown.  Average height but with a wrestler's wiry build, he has metal armour under the clothes, sword and bow, and looks capable.

You have a few spare tables to yourselves, reserved for the "new blood".

After a few circles of friendly mingling, the elf ends up here.  "A long day on a long road," he says idly to the fellow newcomers, some of whom he had seen earlier that day in passing.  "Almost drank as much dust then as ale now.  I'm Petar, traveler and storyteller.  Now that the travels are done, let the stories begin.  Now where is that wench?"

In reply to Petar the Elf (msg # 2):

Phelan responds with more of a grunt than a greeting. Her eyes are downcast yet still seem to be surveying the room. She eventually grumbles, "Phelan"

As she entered, Aila surveyed the room, taking in the various collections of people and trying to gauge who might be the most interesting company ... which quickly brought her to the table for the 'new blood'.  Propping the walking stick against the wall, she dropped the hood of her cloak as she seated herself gracefully in a chair next to the rather interesting-looking elf.

Her other attire--tunic and trousers--were of a plain, serviceable sort in a shade that seemed somewhere between a deep blue and a deep green.  It probably depended on the lighting as to which was truth.  Her hair was piled onto her head, the volume suggesting that if it were released, it would be at least to her waist, perhaps even long enough to sit upon.  Emerging from that pile of hair was a pin which had a careful patina of verdigris to further illustrate the 'tree of life' motif in the pin.

"And I am Aila," she said.  "I thought I saw you earlier today.  It is good, then, to have a chance to get acquainted."

An older man comes in, easy of movement though he looked almost middle-aged or older as his long brown hair and beard were already greying and thinning on top. He wore robes of black with gold and silver runes sewn in the edges. He carried a pack and a staff and earlier he had led a mule you noticed during the day.

"Barmaid! Mulled wine and hot stew please." he looks around the table, "The name is Angus."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:23, Sat 25 Apr 2020.

Hearing the man's call for wine and stew, the buxom woman returns to the table. She looks at everyone else, asking

"W'at ya be havin' t'en? Stew 's r'ady on t'e f're. I brin' ya win' but it'll hav' ta be berry, 's all we got r'ght now. Seven c'ppers each."

She waits to see your coin.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:29, Sat 25 Apr 2020.

While you sit, talk, and pay, you can't help but notice the stare of the old mage on you. He isn't trying to hide it, his eyes painting you with his attention. He seem to be considering something, but his expression remains dispassionate. After a few moment he turns his gaze away and lowers his head in inner thought.

OOC - Human.

Angus pulls 2 silver pieces out and hands it to Larissa. and he nods his head to her.

Phelan, Aila, Angus.  Petar gives each speaker a smile and takes in the names, perhaps already embroiling them in a fanciful tale in his mind.  As the barmaid arrives, he pauses just long enough to see what kinds of coins are produced.

Seeing silver, Petar grins.  "Alas, good Angus, I spent my last copper on the road.  If you'll spot me now, I will repay you double when I can."

The elf explains he intends to earn some coin spinning yarns later, once the current talent - a minstrel of no small voice - had finished his set.  "But first, dinner!"

10 coppers to a silver? Angus produces another silver piece.

Whoop's my bad. Fixing that.

No problem, the picture does look a little dwarfy.

Yes, and the name adds to the "dwarfy" thing.

I like you pic, but it's taken! ;-P Oh, you changed it.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:56, Sat 25 Apr 2020.

Yes, I had to change it because I had already assigned it to the old wizard. =)

Got a new one too.

Aila drew out a silver coin to hand over.  She gave the woman an inquisitive look, and said, "What kind of berry?"  There were some, she knew that grew so sweet that what seemed likely to be a good wine was closer to vinegar.

Liriel sat cross-legged on the bench, quietly drinking an ale. She was still trying to get used to the strange taste, and couldn't make up her mind if she liked it or not. Lost in her own thoughts, she looked up sharply when Petar spoke. She'd hardly expected to hear another elven voice so soon. And the others were a mixed bunch too, a couple of humans and a dwarf. She hadn't met a dwarf before.

"And I'm Liriel."

Liriel's mail wasn't hidden, showing off its fine bright links of elvish design. Her short cloak was green, with twining leaves embroidered along the edges in a lighter thread. Her bow and spear were stacked against the wall.

"Stew, but I'll stick with ale."

She handed over a silver.

"Blueb'rries. Ya, t's a b't sweet, b't t'll do ya good. T's strong."

Larissa takes everyone's money and returns a handful of change from her waistband pockets. She smiles at the lot of you with an evaluating eye, then nods and heads to the kitchen.

You can hear her humming even from here, with the noise of wood on metal.

She returns soon enough with several a large bowls of stew for everyone.

"G'ttin' t'e w'ne!"

Just as quick, she's back with several mugs full of warm wine. On tasting it, you find that it is acceptable. Not the best you've ever had, but it is strong, moderately sweet, and comfortably warm.

"So, ya be new to Emb'rdell? Are ya advent'rers? If ya're look'ng f'r a way in, speak to master Garrel, the elder. He's g't t'e work on all t'e bo'nties here in Emb'rdell. Ya st'nd ta m'ke heft' coin for a day's w'rk. But don't s'y ah didn't warn ya, 't is far dangero's out th're, in t'e fi'lds, gobl'ns, orcs's, ogr's's, 'nd mayb' wors'. Ya b'st t'ke some h'lp wit' ya. Cam'lle th're, sh' a pr'tty lass, and she gots t'e say of Ch'riss, a h'ly w'rd and sp'll. She be good f'r ya out th're."

Larissa points at the pretty young woman sitting by the peering mage. She waves at her, and she waves back with a gentle smile. Larissa then she turns back, nods to the group, and leaves. You could swear she had a smile on her like she was trying to make a match for the young priestess.

Marille wearing her revealing armor entered with her head covered under a cowl. Her massive physique clearly on display as her muscular biceps were visible for any to see. She scanned the room for  moment not knowing if she find a friend or foe then she took a seat and undid her cloak .

Angus waves off the change seeing her work hard to take care of everyone, "Keep it," he says.

10 coppers to a silver? Angus produces another silver piece.

Petar gives his new best friend a winning smile and repeats his promise for a double refund later.  He enjoys the warmed wine, anything sweet with stew was a good combination in his mind.  During the meal he hardly stops talking, inquiring as to everyone's name and what business was taking them either hither or fro.

He explains that he's left home in an eastern city for a while to travel and pick up new experiences and stories so as to better ply his trade as a bard.  "There are only so many ones in books," Petar says, as if implying he's read them all.  To this point, he spends noticeably more time speaking with those that look to be from far away.

Once the barmaid announces the possibilities of adventures and goblin (and worse) bounties and mysterious priestesses and austere wizards, Petar finds himself looking over towards the mis-matched local pair of Garrel and Camille quite a bit.  "I wonder what their tale is," he muses aloud.

Angus looks where indicated, and shrugs, "who knows in these days. So what made you become a bard?"

The men in tavern began to fall silent as Marille stepped into the tavern. A few of them almost spit out their drink in surprise, but they all had amazed expressions on their faces. They were clearly ogling her, her massive muscles open for everyone to see. The guards at the back started talking quietly to each other, apparently discussing her, if their stares were any indication. But their expressions remained serious.

The old mage's attention fell on her as well, and he raised an eyebrow. A half-smile was visible under his beard. He nodded lightly to himself in approval.

The young priestess' mouth shaped into a silent "oh", while her wide open eyes beheld something completely new to her.

Larissa came out of the kitchen and dead-stopped in her tracks, her jaw slack and her mouth agape in amazement.

She walked right up to Marille and put her hand on her massive shoulders.

"Och, d'rlin', w'at h've ya been eat'n? Ya 're as strong as an ox!"

"I do believe," said Aila, looking over to the smiling priestess and back to her companions at table, "that there is an effort to matchmake us, so perhaps we should find out in good time, Sir Petar."

As the silence fell at the entry of a visibly muscle-bound woman brought near silence to the room, and then as she took her seat at the newcomers table, Aila said, "Greetings!  I'm Aila and ... Petar, Liriele, Angus, and Phelan."  Her airy gesture encompassed a tilt toward each as they were named.  She did not immediately ask for a name, as normally Aila's experience was that another was bound to offer it upon having been given names from others.

Marille tugged on her leather studded straps over her shoulder and turned her to the side. "I be drink in mead" The burly woman tossed a silver piece to the lady. Her attention on the room once more. Marille unstrapped her sword from her shoulder and laid both sword and strap upon the table. Her eyes caught the elven man and the eyes of the others before she seemed to look bored.

Phelan takes out a silver coin for her portion of stew and adds, "Ale!"

Her eyes move from the priestess to the new comer at the table. <Perhaps I won't be the only one at the front of the line next time I end up in the thick of things> she muses to herself.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 10:18, Mon 27 Apr 2020.

"who knows in these days. So what made you become a bard?"

"Ah, but I'm not really one, well, not yet.  I just decided to begin in fact.  I know a few things about this and that, and I want to learn a little bit of, well, everything!  In time, the mercy of the good green gods willing, maybe I'll even master some things.  But it all has to start somewhere!"

Her eyes caught the elven man and the eyes of the others before she seemed to look bored.

Petar grins when introduced and allows the impressive lady warrior a moment to compose herself.  After all, traveling was thirsty work and so was talking, so why not quench one thirst before the other starts?

He's not quiet for long, though, as he murmours to Aila conspirationally, "Match-make you say, I'd more say those two're looking keen on taking the short odds in a bar brawl.  Hopefully we're all happy to be in our cups tonight, though!"

Truth told, the Sleeping Owl didn't seem that it was that kind of rowdy place like the Broken Tankard back home.  As the last of the stew and drink disappears, Petar starts thinking on his repertoire.  What tales might these folk be wanting?  Faced with a large crowd, with severe wizards and comely priestesses among them ... he was feeling more than a little pressure to perform.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:11, Mon 27 Apr 2020.

Conversation flowed easy enough among the members of the "new blood" table. They were accustomed to it. An adventurer's lot often relied on swiftly-made alliances, and they had to trust their lives into the hands of unproven strangers more than once. Yet they all knew that in this life the next morning could easily be the last they would ever see. Ever so more reason to enjoy what they had here and now, for the promises of treasure and glory made all else pale in comparison.

As the group talked and ate, they didn't notice the old mage until he was right next to them. He pulled a chair from one of the nearby tables and sat down with the group. His eyes were inquisitive and interested, and he had a small knowing smirk on his face. He nodded to the group in greeting. His voice was old and gravelly as he spoke.

"Welcome to Emberdell, strangers. I'd like to introduce myself. I am called Doromas. I am a wizard by vocation, and a historian by interest. I have resided in this town for several years now, and I find that there are things nearby that would keep one such as myself pouring over tomes and ancient texts for many a late night. But I haven't yet found all that I desire to finish my studies. I would be interested in chartering a group such as yourselves for a number of small tasks that my frail body and lack of experience would not take well. I have enough coin to make it worth your while."

He pulls a few coins from his robe's pockets and drops them on the table. They are shining platinum coins, five of them, with the mark of the larian crown on them.

"What do you say? I have plenty more if you agree to come into my service."

Angus looks at the pile of platinum. "You have our interest, at least, you have mine. Never saw platinum before. Angus is the name."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:30, Mon 27 Apr 2020.

Marille couldn't help, but notice the shiny coins. Her attention piqued she made her way over to the table. Holding her strap containing her sword in her hand. She took her eyes from those seated at the table, then spoke to the mage, "me name be Marille, but if'in ye have me. Me boulders will aid'in de journey." The bulky woman nodded to those gathered at the table.

"I should like to hear more," she said.  "My name is Aila.  Is there a particular task you might be willing to speak more of?  Or somewhere else where you might be more free to speak of particulars?"

Doromas' speech and manner were so like Petar's old Master that he almost imagined himself back inside the dusty tower, being schooled on some matter or another.  Perhaps that is why doesn't find the elderly mage's directness or aura of power intimidating; nonetheless the elf politely listens without interruption or frivolous comment and also makes a point of not looking too longingly at the platinum, a single coin of which would set him up for quite some time.

He lets a few of the others speak before adding his own name to the introductions - again a meaningless politeness for Petar assumes a man like Doromas already knew their names, as well as a great much besides.  He probably had already scryed the future, his augurs telling him precisely which would accept and for what main motivation.  Money?

There it was.  Despite what he knew to be suggested from a thousand tales, it was hard to honestly believe there was more to life than money when you yourself were always a few coins away from having none at all.  Petar smiles.  No, not anymore.  His motivation would be the stories these adventures would incur.

"I'm interested too," Petar says with the same smile.  He looks beyond Doromas to the priestess.  "Larissa mentioned Camille, there?  Is she to be a part of this?"  If so, it almost ensured the tasks would be wholesome - or at least legal!
This message was last edited by the player at 21:58, Mon 27 Apr 2020.

Phelan is hunched over her ale like a child hunched over a cup of warm milk. As the coins are tossed on the table she raises an eyebrow, lifts her head and wipes the foam from her mouth.

 "You have our interest, at least, you have mine. Never saw platinum before. Angus is the name."

"Angus. A fellow after my own kind. I believe you may stand to gain greatly from my projects. I am sure you understand?"

"Me name be Marille, but if'in ye have me. Me boulders will aid'in de journey."

"Boulders, oh dear. If you can throw boulders, not only will I have vastly underestimated you, but you will indeed be a great asset to this endeavor."

"My name is Aila.  Is there a particular task you might be willing to speak more of?  Or somewhere else where you might be more free to speak of particulars?"

"Of course, of course. Yes, I agree. it would be a good idea to keep our discussion private. There are better places to talk."

"I'm interested, too. Larissa mentioned Camille, there?  Is she to be a part of this?"

Doromas' smile wavers for a moment at the metion of Camille.

"Only if she chooses. There's been a... tragedy... perhaps. You see, it is possible she may have lost a sister in cloth. It is too early to tell. It would be best if she spoke to you personally."

Doromas shakes everyone's hand, including the dour quiet dwarf hunching over her ale like a child.

"But first things first." He glances over at Camille for a moment. "The elder, Master Garrel, you will want to speak with him. Find him in the morning in the central round, in the town hall. He holds the list of bounties for Emberdell. He'll pay... well enough. Before you and I finish our business it would be beneficial if you were to help this humble town to clear some of the more rapacious nuisances that have come to visit us lately. I believe there are reports of goblins, orcs, and even an ogre or two, in the wilds nearby. The guard have been doing the best they can, but they have suffered losses over the last few weeks and have their hands full with highway robbers. They are fine men, but there's not enough of them to look everywhere."

Doromas turns his head to the back of the room, where the guards sit. They are talking among themselvse, but are clearly paying attention to your table. One of them nods in acknowledgement.

"They are looking to replenish their ranks. You should expect an invitation to the guard from them soon."

He turns to evaluate Marille.

"Especially for you. With your strength, you could easily take on two or three opponents at once. They are looking for strong candidates," he smiles. "But I will leave such decision to your own judgment. After all, you may stand to make more profit in 'independent employment'".

Doromas


Angus nods understanding, the offer of spells and such.

"Only if she chooses. There's been a... tragedy... perhaps. You see, it is possible she may have lost a sister in cloth. It is too early to tell. It would be best if she spoke to you personally."

The idea of the priestess suffering a tragedy impinges on Petar's emotions and for a moment it is almost as if he was sharing her pain.  He glances over to where the woman was, and hopes she would ask for help in this matter.

Then there was talk of such mundanities as orckin and road thugs.  Yes, such things were dangerous but surely a wizard like Dormas would just snap his fingers and they'd be fried in a fireball.  Aha!  Petar understands suddenly.  This was a test of some sort, a proving ground, to see which of them were heroes and which would rather join the highwaymen.  Very clever, Dormas!

"They are looking to replenish their ranks. You should expect an invitation to the guard from them soon."

I said bard, not guard!  Petar grins, always first amused at himself before others.  Well, most others, and, maybe a guard.  There'd be pay and probably a dozen stories from the veterans to pick up.  And if not a dozen, he'd settle for one good one.

It seemed the logical steps were to see this Master Garrel, prove themselves by routing lesser threats, and then discuss the platinum-coated matters with Dormas after.  Petar sighs, then shrugs.  No sense biting off too much at once.

Before retiring for the night, there was one last task.  He wasn't going to sing for his supper, but he would speak for it.  Petar sits cross-legged in a corner, weaving a tale or two with embellishments of accent and a voice that rose and fell in synchrony with his story.  With any luck, he'd have those two silver coins he owed Angus, and maybe one more beside.

"Intriguing," replied Aila.  "And is there a place you would recommend to continue our discussion?"

She tilted her head, seeming to be settling several things into place in her mind--Master Garrel in the center round, invitation from the guard (which seemed rather less appealing, as it was almost certainly a tiedown that would preclude the breadth of experiences she was meant to encounter), Marille and boulder throwing, Camille and tragedy and loss, and the range of foes that seemed to be afflicting the area.

Marille shook her head slowly at the mention of her throwing boulders. Her smile was warm, but she nearly had a malfunction of her leather armor when she lifted her right arm and made her bicep bulge. The woman is obviously a physical freak of nature.

"Me boulders be me right here." The fighter pointed to her massive bicep.

Liriel listened to Doromas' proposition with interest.

"I am Liriel, and I would join in ridding the area of these nuisances. My people have long fought such-"

The epithet that followed wasn't in common or elvish, but was goblin for 'One-who-wallows-in-latrines'. Liriel was proud of her knowledge of the enemies' languages.

Her stoic manner cracked when she grinned at Marille's remark about her boulders.

"I may not be as strong, but I can still puncture goblins and orcs."

She was trying not to think about ogres, though.

Phelan finally gives out with more than a grunt or growl. I don't take orders from some uppity guardsman. However, I would rather take my chances doing some bounty hunting than with any more of this stew. Master Garrel in the morning. Anyone else?
This message was last edited by the player at 13:49, Wed 29 Apr 2020.

"Intriguing," replied Aila. "And is there a place you would recommend to continue our discussion?"

"We'll talk again. I have a small shack I am presently renting only an hour away. Allow me to get some details in order and we ought to be able to talk tomorrow."

"Me boulders be me right here." The fighter pointed to her massive bicep.

Doromas laughed hearthily in surprise.

"I never knew they were called that. I am a lucky man. I learn something new every day."

Liriel's stoic manner cracked when she grinned at Marille's remark about her boulders. "I may not be as strong, but I can still puncture goblins and orcs."

Still amused at Marille's remarks, Doromas added with a smile, "Yes, that would be the idea. My concerns are more exploratory, while the town will need your support immediately. I am glad you bring a talent for armed confrontation. It is, unfortunately, sometimes the only coin goblins understand. Orcs, on the other hand, well, that depends on who you are dealing with, I suppose."

Phelan finally gives out with more than a grunt or growl. "I don't take orders from some uppity guardsman. However, I would rather take my chances doing some bounty hunting than with any more of this stew. Master Garrel in the morning. Anyone else?"

The wizard nodded at the present agreement with the group. Even the quiet dwarf had something to add.

"Wonderful! I am glad there is some much agreement here. But please don't take the guardsmen in ill light here. They are not looking to 'order people around'. They are decent folks trying to undertake the task of keeping these people safe. Yes, they can be abrasive at times, but then, if you had to do their job, would you not as well?"

He fished into his pocket and dropped another platinum coin on the table.

"There. That should be one for each of you. Consider it a good-will promise for employment to come. Let's talk tomorrow after you have finished your business with Master Garrel. You'll find me at the western farms, only a short walk away. Ask anyone there, they will know where to point you."

He stands up nodding to everyone. As he passes Marille he pats her on the shoulder and whispers appreciatively, "Nice boulders!"

With that, he walks to the door, pulls his cloak tightly around him, and opens the door. Outside, the rain is falling with intensity. With a wave of his hand and a few choice words, Doromas casts a spell that creates a small bubble of light around him, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He steps out into the rain, unconcerned, and you notice that he isn't getting wet. The drops are falling around him.

OOC: You are free to carry onwards to next morning, or continue talking amongst yourselves or to someone else, if you wish. Let me know.

Angus picks up a platinum piece and puts it in his purse. "Well, tomorrow with Garrel then. Followed by Doromas. Eat, drink and sleep?" he looks at the others.

Phelan picks up the platinum piece reluctantly. She doesn't like the idea of being indebted to anyone and intends to promptly give it back if the terms of employment aren't to her liking. For now, she's had enough stew and company for one evening and calls the barmaid over to inquire about a room.

"Do you have a room for the night and, if so how much?" Inside she is hoping the beds here have fewer lice than the last inn she stayed at.

"I would like a room too if one is available?" He tells the maid.

The powerful fighter had no intention of paying for a room for the night. She got the attention of her barkeep and asked how much for a stable. Straw may not be as soft as a pillow. But Marille knew she wouldn't sleep anyway. As is custom for her before a fight, she will spend the hours sharpening her sword with stone. She might catch a few glimpses of sleep, but she will envision skewering monsters.

Aila took the single platinum coin and slipped it away into the pouch at her waist.

 "I also would like a room," she said.

He steps out into the rain, unconcerned, and you notice that he isn't getting wet. The drops are falling around him.

Nice trick!  Petar grins appreciatively.  Magic was all around, like the currents of air.  Even so, around humans you didn't see it being used like that every day.  The elf shrugs.  He liked rain, for without it nothing grew green or wide or tall.

Speaking of wide and tall, he looks from one erstwhile drinking companion to the other as he also slides the platinum coin away.  With a wink to Angus, Petar glides to the bar to make change and returns with a lot more coins to his name.  "Two silvers," he passes to the elderly man with a grin.

He wishes them all a good night before announcing he'll be staying by the warm fires for a while longer, telling stories and hopefully listening for new ones.  Then, when Petar can not keep sleep away any longer, he also gets a room and prepares for a dreamy reverie.

OOC: Petar's stories fill the room during the evening. How well does he do? Let's find out: make a storytelling roll.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:15, Thu 30 Apr 2020.

Whether telling gentle children's tales or unabashedly switching to more lurid fare, Petar generally tries to keep one eye on the audience and switches things around based on reactions of boredom.  Most of the trouble the incipient bardling has is overdoing it, for he tends to go all out when perhaps, less would have been more.

Check result 15 vs CHA 12, oops!

13:07, Today: Petar the Elf rolled 15 using 1d20.  Storytelling check.

And so it is here that he unluckily wraps his oratory hour with the tale of the Lost Orc, a story where a young guardsman goes missing on routine patrol only to be found months later enslaved by the foul humanoids.  Sadly, he's been taken in with Orc culture and even learned some of the bestial tongue (here Petar really over-embellishes, with real Orcish curses and worse) and when he's finally rescued, he turns on his would-be saviours in a fit of fury and savage madness.

Only when he notices a hush has fallen and he's faced with severe and stony faces around the tap-room does Petar let his voice die down.  He bears the silence with an ever-so-slightly recalcitrant look.

Petar had a reasonably good night telling many varied stories. But it seemed to come to difficult close when he told the story of the Lost Orc. While the story wasn't bad, it seemed to hit too close to home here in Emberdell, where the risk of orcs coming close and attacking was all too real during these last few days.

As he finishes, the guardsmen rise and approach him, quietly sizing him up.

"Good stories, bard. Play again tomorrow? Something different?"

They drop a few coins for him, nod, and leave for the night.

OOC: Overall, Petar made 16 coppers in total. Enough for room and board, and a few coins to spare.

Petar feels terribly at this blunder; back home orcs were boogeymen and far-flung menaces while here in Emberdell they were all to close for comfort.  He knew this, but just had got swept away in the moment.

"Yes," he says weakly.  "Something different."

I'm very glad to see that in this game, a failed skill check does not mean disaster :whew

15 coins given for room and breakfast, with one luck penny placed in a small slot in the left bootheel explicit for this purpose!

OOC: Yes, this was a "non-pressure" situation. If you had rolled a 20 you might have insulted someone. And you certainly were not performing in front of an irritated despot emperor who would have you thrown to the pits for some imagined slight or not liking the color of your vest.

But as is more common, if you aren't doing well, people just stop showing up. =)