Please introduce your characters to one another?

The dark haired, muscled human appears crumpled into the dark stall in the corner.

“Well met, may the Morninglord’s light…   et cetera ad nauseum…”  he says drily.  The bursting sun symbol of Lathander appears road worn and almost hidden under a travel stained green felt cloak.  While clearly an old set, the chain shirt is well maintained and a spiked mace is propped between his knee and one of the table legs.

“Bandalor, originally Prelate of the Shining Halls in Tethyr…  but we’re a long ways from those days now.  Drink?”  He gestures toward an open bottle of red wine.  From appearances, it’s almost half empty.

"Imbert Keenbinder at your service.  Originally from some small village you never heard of currently crawling with the undead."  replies a young thin human.  Moving with obvious weariness, he places a backpack, sickle, club, long bow, quiver and traveler's clock in the corner before taking a seat at the table.  His dented and protesting scalemail armor makes the entire process appear quite awkward.
"A drink after a long a day on the road is always welcome.  My thanks Father Bandalor."  He says while pouring a modest cup of wine.

"Drink? You betcha!" It takes a running start for the diminutive young woman to make it onto the barstool, but she lands gracefully enough. In leather leggings and boots, a linen blouse, and a sleeveless doublet of purple velvet, she looks somewhere between a noble's page boy and a wandering scholar. She pushes a lock of curly red-brown hair out of her face, revealing the high cheekbones, wide eyes, and snub nose of a gnome.

She pours an ample cup of wine, glances furtively around the room, and with a snap of her fingers, transforms it into a tall, frosted glass of something effervescent and shimmering. She plucks a slice of cucumber out of thin air and garnishes the drink with it, then smiles around the table. "I'm Gwen," she says, "and you boys look like you've been around a bit. What news from the road?"

  “Milass, another bottle of the Berdusk Red, if ye may.”  Bandalor signals with his hand to the nearest server while straightening his form and leaning in to the new tablemates.  His pale green eyes yield a weariness his relative youthfulness doesn’t appear to justify.

  “Long weeks on the High Road have my throat dry and purse full.  Been a good haul keeping greenskins, wolves, and vagabond roughs off the running boards of the trading costers headed north and south.  I’ve a mind for a good meal, crisp drink, and an eye for the next opportunity.”  Reaching for the remaining dregs of the bottle, he empties the remnants into his goblet while surveying Gwen and Imbert.  Pushing aside his cloak, a leather pouch the size of a grapefruit appears to bulge with coins and a hand axe is tucked into a wide black leather belt.

  “Not the worst place to recover and spot the next move.  Morning always comes.”
This message was last edited by the player at 14:03, Mon 23 Mar 2020.

"Opportunity! Now you're speaking my language. I'm all for the next adventure." Gwen's eyes grow bigger at the mention of orcs and wolves, and bigger yet at the sight of the cleric's wealth of coin. She happily intercepts the next bottle when it arrives, frowns at the slim, roadworn man and tops up his glass first, then catches the weary look from the big man and fills his glass as well. "Of course, you two look like you could use some rest-- maybe a bath, too-- but you known the Sword Coast... never a dull moment." She peers around the establishment, sizing up the remaining patrons.

“Thy heart quivers upon her memories.
Aire’s bewitching lullaby turns Lament.
Forever thou beholden to thy pain.
Gaze thy eyes, haste to solitary rose.
Tis beauty hangs but alone in the rain.
Oh sadden rose, that drapes from once her bloom.
Her calls to such affection twas never.
But answer none was such reply, but rain
Call to rose must thou I respond in song.
May words and melody embrace such pain.
Fixed thy eyes upon dying garden bare.
Cry must I to know rose to fall from bloom.
So thus sing to rose till last petal falls
From birth to death, she will only know song.”

    -Sonnet by Lydian Silvertune (while escaping from another jail)

Bursting loudly into the pub. "Fear not beautiful maidens. For tis I, Lydian Silvertune have arrive to release you from your sorrow filled days and fulfill all desires and longing of love" I start to hand out half dead flowers to all the women and one gnome. "Have yet not heard of the Lydian Silvertune? For I come far and wide. Traveled the high road and conquered that which haunted its travelers...who have nearly fought the Dragon of Triel.....who nearly stood up to the Badger of Thay....and who personally wet him self at the Battle Icewind Dale..." Stopped to ponder and see if anyone noticed. "Come friends, let us drink and sing of day of yore. Let us sing of high adventure and those who we have lost, both in life and in love." I sit down next to the first person I see and look to them. "So....what's the good word friend"

As you sit at your you're welcomed by laughing voices and a sense of home.
The bartender is handling some customers, but still manages to welcome you with a wave.

It's as enchanting inside as it is on the outside. Hardwooden beams support the upper floor.The tavern itself is packed. Locals seem to be the primary clientele here, which often indicates great food. Several long tables are occupied by, what must be separate groups who have bonded over great food and conversation. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who seem to be enjoying themselves a lot, perhaps too much, if such a thing is possible. Even most of the stools at the bar are occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company.

You did hear rumors about this tavern, supposedly it's famous for something, but you can't remember what for. Though judging by the warmth and joy radiating through the tavern, it's probably the atmosphere that makes this tavern famous.

As you all get acquainted with one another you see the squat shape of Gundren Rockseeker whom summoned you to this particular tavern at this particular time for some particular reason.

Raising his hand he says, "Well met friends. Glad you have all gathered as I have a request for you. Sildar Hallwinter and I are to travel to the small town of Phandalin on the 'morrow to begin our work that is to bring great prosperity to the region. Our supplies will not be ready for another two days. I need trusted individuals to brave the High Roads and Triboar Trail to deliver our goods to Phandalin. I am willing to pay each of you ten gold pieces upon receipt of the cart of goods which can be found Harlond's supplies, grains and more. What says you?"

In reply to Narrator (msg # 8):

While staring at the behind of a curvy maiden and drinking.
"10 Gold per person? Seems alittle, hmmm what's the word? Shabby? Cheap?" Turning my eyes toward him. "Unreasonable?" I take another look at the women around. "The ballad's alone and the song to be sung will be worth more gold then the bargain you've brung!" I put my drink down and start to tune my lute. "With the skills you have summoned at this table and with the task lay at hand...." Looking to my party members. "I think 20 gold per person is fair and reasonable. Any thing else, dare I say, would be...how do i say this?" Looking into his eyes with a smirk. "Disrepectful?" (Persuasion CHeck)

Gwen isn't overly impressed by the boisterous bard's song, but when he starts to haggle in her favor, she makes a subtle arcane gesture in his direction. An unlikely breeze shifts his hair in a compelling way, and a light from an unseen source glints off his surprisingly white teeth.

[Prestidigitation cantrip, in case Gwen can give Lydian an Advantage on his skill check.]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:34, Mon 23 Mar 2020.

Lydian sways his head with the motion of the breeze (slow motion of course)and remissness of his youth on the shores of the Sword Coast while awaiting for an answer.

Looking as if slapped Gundren replies, "I thought of most of you as friends and close to family and that we would all be starting new lives in Phandalin. I was giving you all the opportunity to earn a bit of cash to get going in this wilderness frontier which will need heroes such as yourselves. However I see that the greed of this world affects all even those I consider allies. Fine I can offer you each 15 gold pieces to deliver these goods to Phandalin where you will surly find further employment and opportunity."

Looking saddened Gundren produces four purses, opens each, adds a few more coins and places them on the table.

Gazing down Gundren mumbles, "I take it you can see to your own drinks?"

In reply to Narrator (msg # 12):

"Twas a pleasure doing business with you kind sir. I am sure we will have no dilemma in finding drink and pleasure in this establishment" Lydian takes his share of the purse and precedes to find a stage. Any stage will do of course.

Your cold heart finds a open spot in front of the immense and warm fire place. An open chair sits ready.

Gundren looks at those who remain at the table.

In reply to Narrator (msg # 14):

[OOC: How far away is the stage I am on to the rest of the party?]

"Grains and supplies, eh?  Well, I've earned coin worse ways.  While his tune is flat, Barkerpants has the right of it.  This lot's perhaps a bit above the ten mark.  Perhaps an interest in the traffic itself, for a commitment of more than just one trip and done?"

Bandalor gives the bard a sidelong look, and then hefts back what remains of his wine glass and reaches for more.

Giving a self satisfied sigh, states rather archly "Either way, happy to ensure your items arrive safe, sound, and with the blessing of the Morninglord's favor."

Gundren states," Very Well please see Harold in two days time. After that make your way to Phandalin South along the High Road and the East across Triboar Trail." With that Gundren takes his leave of the group.

OOC: The Fireplace is 12 feet from the rest of the group. If you have not yet please check Private messages for any vital information related to characters.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:47, Mon 23 Mar 2020.

Imbert jerks suddenly, shakes his head and looks around as if waking from a dream.
"Phandalin you say?  I'm sure we can find work in that town after the goods are delivered.  I'll walk beside your carts with an eye to keep them safe."  He says without looking up. Though lately I'm more like to draw trouble than frighten it off."  he continues quietly, before finishing with a nod to Grundren.  "Fifteen is a most generous offer, you have my thanks."
This message was last updated by the player at 21:53, Mon 23 Mar 2020.

The bustle of the Tavern continues on into the night as there is much merriment, conversation and drinks to be had.

OOC: If anything else the PC's have to talk about or actions to take now would be the time to do it. If not Post once more and finish it with so and so heads to bed or some other suitable finisher.

In reply to Narrator (msg # 19):

OOC: Just want to make sure I play well enough to find me some women for the evening without paying for it. Preferably ones who have a high tolerance for pain and enjoy it. After all, I have two whips. Performace Check 16+6=22 to get me night time enjoyment.

Imbert stifles a yawn and stretches.  Before rising stiffly and collecting his gear.
"That's it for my tonight.  I'll head heading to the market for supplies in the morning if anyone is interested.  I don't think we'll see our new musical friend much before midday."

Gwen looks chastened. "Gosh... He seemed really hurt. I thought it was just a gig, ya know, a bit of side work. But it sounds like we're supposed to be friends and really behind this Phandalin venture." She frowns... clearly this was something she hadn't expected, even though she'd supposedly been summoned by the dwarf Gundren to join the party. Perhaps her connection to Phandalin doesn't run quite as deep as anticipated...

She sighs and shrugs, drains her cocktail glass (which turns back into a cheap wooden cup), and gets up. She looks over at the bard trying woo a pair of winsome maidens, sends a loud magical flatus towards his table, and slings her bag over her shoulder. "We've a whole day before Harold expects us... I'll be down in the morning if anyone wants to join me for a doughnut and a day in the city."

[Unless anyone stops her, she takes a room at the inn and retires.]

As the bard is about to close the deal on some barmaid she catches a wiff of something awful that she assumes originated from his direction. Disgusted she storms off back to the kitchens. The rest of the assembled escorts tread off to bed leaving the bard to scavenge for whatever morsel might be left at this hour which there is none.