At the center of the village, surrounded by the various service and goods providers tailoring to the caravan trade, the weathered carving a large faded green goblin fist closed around a foaming goblet marks the Fist and Flagon.  Wagons and mounts fill the open stable that runs just off the main road, partially enclosed by the two low slung wings of the inn.

  The large open hall is loud and busy, with customers filling the long tables that make up the center, as well a many of the darker more secluded booths lining the walls.  The bar along the back is nearly standing room only, as both villagers and the tradesmen spend the coin the spring caravans are bringing.

  Standing back behind the bar, a portly human beyond middle age hooks his thumbs in his leather belt and takes it all in.  “Rest Malcho’s poor soul, things have certainly picked up since those companions did him in.” He thinks ruefully, reflecting on older years when the Druid would lead assist the local clerics in a variety of religious rites.  “He may naught appreciated the reds and blacks returning in such numbers; but I certainly do!”  Belgar’s fortunes had certainly swelled in recent months.

  In a rear corner, farthest from the entrance, and opposite the wing housing the rooms for hire, a muscled but gnarled human observes the floor silently, nursing a flagon.  Appearing without weapon, he wears polished but old black leather armor.

  At the end of one of the tables flush with drinking caravan men and guards, a slight but lithe dark-haired human in road worn chain and a peace beaded bastard sword picks at his dinner, attempting to furtively scan the room.

At least sixty patrons fill the ‘Flagon this afternoon, and the smell of cooked meat, spiced potatoes saturate a growing din, making any direct conversations unintelligible to those without specific skills.

   As the elf and dwarf polish off the last of their late morning breakfast, nobody in the Flagon can help but notice as a towering half-orc brute throws open the door and strides purposefully to the bar.  One of Belgar’s wenches leans in to take the traveler’s order.  Leaning a nearly 7’ bardiche blade down against the bar, he scans the clientele and orders.

The foaming mug of ale looks puny in the half-orc’s grip, and he flips the bardiche back into his hand with a deft kick of his foot.  Boisterous patrons make way as he finds his way over to the elf and dwarf, ostensibly among the heaviest purses in the Flagon given the large breakfast spread and lavish attention the staff levy upon them.

“Will that be all, Quilro?” asks one of the maids, until the shadow of the half-orc falls upon the table…  “eh, what can I get you…” she stammers somewhat awkwardly, noting the full mug and bardiche.

“Er, Kailute salutes you, and wishes to join you, if room allows.”  He grabs a small but sturdy table, and pulls it up to use as a stool.  He lays the bardiche under the table, and barmaid scampers away with a sidelong look at the elf.

09:31, Today: Harticus rolled 28 using 1d100.  Encounter reaction Check.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:37, Wed 08 Apr 2020.

In reply to Harticus (msg # 3):

given q's outgoing personality he will stand and greet the new comer with a handshake or whatever the custom of your realm dictates.

Well met stranger what brings you to the flagon and more precisely to our table today?

In reply to Quilro (msg # 4):

Hullo, I am Kailute.  I'm a new to town and looking to meet people.  From the spread laid out before you, you seem to be some people of note.  As my uncle used to say, "If you're going to meet someone, may as well meet someone worth meeting."

“Of note!?  I’ll say of note!”   The smell of sweat and cheap potato spirits color the intrusion of a portly, middle aged human dressed in work leathers.  “These here’n slew Malcho the druid, who wash takin’ all the coin up to the Hapersh in Elvenfuck!”  Nearly losing his balance, having leaned into the table uninvited, he spins back out toward the common space with a shout “I’ll drink to DonBrapp and Quilro all night long!”

While certainly a violation of personal space, the drunken platitudes don’t appear to cause much of a stir in the otherwise busy common room.  You recognize the human as one of the wheelwright workhands, obviously enjoying the boom from increased merchant traffic as well as the custom work on your wagon.

You both notice it has drawn the attention of the older, muscled gentleman in old black armor, across the way and opposite corner from your booth.  No animosity, but he does appear to regard your group with interest.

In reply to Harticus (msg # 6):

"I've heard of Malcho, nothing terrible, but nothing particularly good either.  A druid after coin?  Unusual.  Did he cross you by taking your coin?  Can't have a man with no rights dipping into your pockets!"

This message was last edited by the GM at 16:10, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Don Brappo to Kailute speaking in Orcish:

"Kailute indeed - snort and spit - sounds like a fairy winded instrument my cousin Don Swallows who had a taste for  cock and balls used to blow on. Excuse my friend Quilro's mild manners, he'll lay with anything that has a willin' hole as sure as Don Swallows a pole."

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 9):

"Strange for ye to mock my name when Brappo sounds like wet fart that ends in a shit, but none of us can helps with our names, be they given or inherited from a long line of underwear stains."

Kailute smiles offering his hand to Don Brappo.

In reply to Kailute Crashhawk (msg # 10):

As you exchange opening pleasantries, again the door opens and in march six grim and road weary humans.  Vested in a mix of chain and plate, all bear the sigil of Helm the Watcher either on tabards, hanging from around their necks, or emblazoned on the shields some carry.

The first, and apparently oldest human, so muscular his neck seems to disappear straight into his chainshirt leads the group straight to the first available table, directly in front the bar.  His companions take measure of the room, and there are some mild glares between some in darker armor, but they settle peacefully and order their drink and meals.

Shaking Kailute,s hand:

"Well met indeed"

Noticing the band of humans.

"have a seat my brobdingnagian friend...and tell me what you make of these galoots!"

Pushing her way through the growing throng, the human barmaid returns with a full wooden tray.

"Vittles and ale, from your friends over the way!" She squeals, indicating to the two oddly dressed halflings over her shoulder.  She places a plate full of dried meats, pickled vegetables, and cheese before you all, as well as a full and foaming wooden pitcher of mead.

Turning her eye to Quilro, she removes the last item of her tray, a fluted green bottle of what appears to be a relatively expensive vintage of elvish red.  "They thought you might enjoy a taste of home, so this is the only Evereskan we had in the cellar."

Pulling her tray back to her ample bosom, she scans the table and all of you.  "If you need anything else, yell 'Barla!'"

Retreating, she casts another sidelong eye at the elf before moving quickly back toward the bar and other patrons.

The offerings before you are among the costliest of those available off the menu, and none of you are familiar with the two halflings in the middle booth along the wall across from your table.  They both wear a mix of odd fitting adventure cloaks, and better tailored leggings and shirts not normally worn on the road.  An odd mix of shabby and fashionable, as if it were unclear what they were going to do that morning.  A dagger is visible on the belt of one, and perhaps a shortsword at the foot of the other.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:24, Wed 15 Apr 2020.

In reply to Harticus (msg # 13):

Kailute pulls up a chair and takes a sear.  Quaffs some of his ale.

"Thank you kindly. From what I heared, Helm worshippers is in town to investigate a demonic infestation -- so it seems that ye have already done them a great service.  I wonder if Helm be generous to those who does his dirty work for him.  Probably not, uptight prick of a god -- no offense intended if he be your god -- he and his may sometime render good service, just not my style"

After the food is delivered,

"Seems ye attracted the attention of some Harpers -- if I not be mistaken.  I hear'd a contingent be out here looking for gods know, but they be practically asking for the sort of less most frequent learned from a beatin'."

To Kailute:

"Helm be not my God! Behold the Iron Cube of Brap. God of Ass Kicking, Hammer Pounding and Beard Groomin'. He be the maker of me and of all."

Shulls back the mead. Speaks loud enough for the table of men to hear.

"Harpers have brought me good fortune of late - lost a few men along the way but they were just men."

Speaking softer to Kailute and Quilro:

"Those 2 look to be a merrypippin with adventuresome knowings."

Quilro shoots the dwarf a sly look and angles over toward the bar following the maid.

One of the darkened armored revelers is flanked by two human females in casters robes who are obviously deriding the stern Helmites who just charged in.  He has shoulder length blonde hair, and pale skin.  While slight in build, a longsword is slung over the back of his blackened scale.  Laughs and shouts of "Squareheads" and "Red flamelicking eunuchs" drift from the table of Zhent caravan crews throughout the common room. In addition to the leader and the two apparent mages, four other men at arms crowd their table.

The elf has moved back to the bar and appears to be engaging the barmaid Barla in quiet conversation.

Speaking softly to Kailute -

"Let's keep to ourselves while these 2 tables of round ears get to know each other - but keep an eye over the rabble on my leaf lickin' buttercup of an elf friend's whereabouts."

To ensure there's no confusion:

Green, yellow, red borders = Friend, neutral, enemy.

The generic villager and village couple are just that;  all others should have been previously described from one entry or another above.

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 18):

Kailute nods and responds more quietly .

"You expecting trouble?  Does your bony friend attract it?  I've not worked with a Harper before, but I am unsure if either of 'em two runts know which end of their pig stickers goes in the pig ... Given your associatin' do you have any opinions about the other players around here, Zhents, Red Wizards or otherwise?"

While the elf remains engaged with the blonde at the bar, you see the two halflings furtively peek around the tavern, and then attempt to make their way toward your table with exaggerated sly movements.  One, wearing a felt overcoat barely covering a shortsword makes his way toward the fire, pausing a bit to stare into it, before casually approaching your table.

The other bumbles out of the booth, and disappears in the direction of the bar.  His head reappears at waist level, headed blithely past the table full of dour war-clerics.

They circle in opposite paths through the tavern to your table.

For a moment, they both pause just off your table, clearly attempting to be unaffiliated before they both close and nearly shout “Well met, adventurers!”

An awkward moment as they look at each other, and collect themselves.

The one with the overcoat shakes his head and says flatly “Again, well met. Traynin Stoutfellow, at your service.  How do you like the meat and cheese?”

He waits a moment, and the other quickly pipes up “Did you kill the cambion?  Did you find the summons?  Where is it?”

His companion, barely tall enough to meet the table with his chin, holds his forehead in his hand.

“Dammit, Delbar.  Your tongue will catch the trap before we can even find the cave.”  Looking up, he says “We have questions about your recent accomplishments, and possibly further rewards if you are interested.”

To the 1/2lings:

"Rewards be my concern all times of day or night, no matter the month or year. but you'll have to remind me of what adventures I might have concluded in your behalf of interest my dire-midged shin licking friends."

Traynin and Delbar look at each other, momentarily confused.  Then they begin almost as one to talk atop each other…

“Illayin told us you were the heroes of Waymeet, who had killed the fallen Initiate Malcho after…”  Delbar picks up  “…succumbed to the infernal cambion Prenych, who had corrupted him and was using him to control and amass a group….”  Traynin steps back in “To control trade along the southern shores of the Moonsea…”  now lowering his voice “And unearth the magical treasures of Cormanthor.”  Both halflings shake with tremulous body language invoking the name of the fallen Elven forest to the south.

Pausing for a moment to reflect on the importance of what they stated, Traynin continues “We all know it takes powerful magic to summon a demon.  Illayin figures there is likely still powerful magic in the location this beast was summoned….”  “Magic that either needs to be destroyed,  or SEIZED FOR THOSE WHO HARP!”  Delbar clearly cannot modulate his voice, although the volume of the bar doesn’t appear to change a whit at his exclamation.  Only the old graybeard in the far corner appears to remain interested, although it is doubtful he can hear over the din.

“Illayin knows others have been dispatched to investigate as well.  That contingent from Hillsfar..”  Traynin jabs a thumb over his shoulder to the Helmites at the table “…Are also on the hunt, for glory…  and the power of Hillsfar.”  Both halflings look even more troubled, as Delbar nearly whispers “And you know what they are doing to elves in Hillsfar.”

Allowing a moment for you all to digest, Traynin unrolls a map of the southern Moonsea reachs.  It displays the area from Teshwave to Eleventree, and denotes the ruined barrow and druidic hold south of Waymeet.  “We propose a return to the fallen Druids summoning site, to collect what magic remains, and better understand what if any evil remains in the area.  The Harpers would like to beat the Helmites there, so time is of the essence.  In addition to a portion of what you might find,”  he taps a fat purse tied under his rotund belly “Many a platinum from the coffers upon your return.”

To the 1/2ling:

"How much platinum?"

To Kailute in orcish:

 "Could ya do me a favor friend and take one of these ankle biters over to the bar and gather up my Pole-proportioned dendrophile of an elf compatriot. tell him i said it's shitsville in Hillsfar for his pointy kind of fairy folk and i gots us a line on a new source of revenue for big willy'n the Shaggin' wagon, but he needs to stop playin' finger bang Barla for a few minutes and return for meetin of the minds o'er here. and get some ale, put it on my tab."

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 24):

"I don't know much about the collectin' of magic, but removin' from the wild -- or even better destroying it -- seems like a bit of good that could be done."

Kailute quaffs what is left of his beer in a single gulp and stands.

"If business is to be discussed, it seems that we need some liquid to make it go down easy.  Come little one, I'll need an extra set of hands for carrying."

Kailute grabs the back of Delbar's cloak and pulls him towards the bar and Quilro.  Muscling aside whomever is next to Quilro and the server, he orders one more of whatever the halflings, Don Brapp and Quilro are having.  He then turns to Quilro, "Your salty friend over there has been approached about some business from this one (with one arm, Kailute hauls Delbar up to Quilro's eye level lifting from the back of his cloak) and his friend.  He requests that you come over to hear what they have to say.  His version was a bit more colorful, but he seemed quite emphatic."

To Traynin:

"Tell me more 'bout yer Harpy mission and what you may be knowin' b'bout the entity in the barrow."

Q will leave the wench and head over to mystery staring man in corner.


well met stranger mind if I join you?

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 26):

Traynin collects himself, pulling on the lapels of his worn felt coat.  “Eherm.”  Gesturing again toward the map, he indicates “Malcho’s Grove was known to be in the plains just north of the elven woods.  This area has also been reported suffering increased caravan attacks.  No ransom, no claims of booty.  Just gone.”  The location Traynin points to is about 30 miles southwest of Waymeet, in the general area of the barrow your party raided in the previous months.  And you all have heard the reports of increased danger, and larger caravan parties.  This spring, only one in four of the usual wagons between the Dales and the Moonsea appear to be making it through.

“Thirty platinum each, for a successful reconnaissance of Malcho’s grove, and a report of any, eh, irregularities.  Any magics, foul or otherwise shall be yours for the danger.  However, any items specific to the woods, the grove, or of particular interest of those who Harp we may ask you to surrender, or negotiate a price.”  He pauses there, to gauge the reaction of the dwarf.  “Another twenty atop that, if ye beat them to the location.”  He again shoots a quick glance to the Helmites, now deep in their cups and brooding at the Zhents.

“Ehhhh!  Put me down!  Tanglefoots are not toys for orc-men!”  Delbar states frustrated, wiggling his way down at the bar.  His frustration subsides immediately when Belgar puts another pitcher of beer and a bottle of elven wine down in front him.

In reply to Quilro (msg # 27):

The silver haired warrior looks up at the elf, and grunts an even “Well met.  You and your friends over there quite the recent folk here.  Waiting for your Dwarf friend to declare he’s running for Boyar.”  Flatly stated, it occurs to Quilro it is probably intended to be a joke.

Quilro glides over to the booth with the older warrior, and sits down.

Kailute and Delbar collect the next round, and head back toward the table where the dwarf is nodding agreement to something Traynin has said.

"What'd the Priest of Helm's daughter say when she's shagged her first nacker?"  Shouted one of the burly men-at-arms from the Zhent table.

"I dunno, Mern.  What's that?"  the blond one at the head of the table responded.

"GET OFF ME, PA!  YER CRUSHIN' ME MOKES!"  Uproarious laughter from the Zhents is met by steely eyed fury from the Helmites.  Kailute and Delbar attempt to move swiftly and courteously through the rising tension back to their booth.

Anyone looking notices two of the Helmites at the far end of the table (closest to the bar) conducting incantations and invoking their holy symbols, as if preparing to cast spells.

The lithe human with a bastard sword tenses slightly, and his hand casually moves toward the peace knot binding his weapon.

Most of the other patrons are relatively oblivious, but the grizzled old man nods to Quilro and says flatly  "Trouble's here."

Kailute and Delbar arrive back at the table with more beer and wine, as Traynin finishes explaining that his role in this escapade is purely administrative.

In reply to Harticus (msg # 31):

Kailute casually stands next to the table holding a flagon in one hand and the other on the back of a throwable chair.  He seems to be watching the whole thing, but is prepared to huck a chair into the Zhents if the opportunity presents itself.

well met couldn't help but notice you noticing my friends surely you mean us no harm we are kind of a big deal around here right now.

turning to motion to the room do I notice the spell casters?

scus me sir things are moving

I say as I begin to circle behind the zent not directly behind but out of eye line

Near simultaneously, odd magical effects shower the open room.

One of the Helmites shouts, “SIT DOWN!” and immediately the three Zhents along the uppermost table look confusedly, but comply by sitting straight down.  At the same time, utter silence seems to descend upon their table, while the remaining dark cloaked ruffians appear to shout and wail, their surprise and impotence appears almost complete.

The three warriors directly opposite turn to fight, nobody yet grabbing a weapon but each having one in ready reach, while the other three leap atop the table with apparent intent to dive forward in attack.  All of the Helmites seem animated and blessed with apparent favor of their patron diety.

The grizzled old warrior and the younger dark haired human both grip their drinks and their weapons, while waiting to see what transpires further.

Thus far, onlookers and bar staff have yet to react.

[Table talk] Zhents are surprised.

DonBrapp, Kailute, and halflings roll separate initiative from Quilro due to distance and separation.  The dwarf has already got a spell off.  Silence 15’ radius indicated by gray circles.


Declare actions (Kailute, free chair hucking prior to initiative unless you declare otherwise), roll D10 for initiative applying modifiers.

[Yarn, I know that is 2E initiative.  If you want, we can fight outside next time I am home.]


This message was last edited by the GM at 02:52, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

I will slide down north wall about four squares I doubt there is enough shade to hide in shadows but if by smaller table I can blow out candle and crouch under table I will

08:25, Today: Quilro rolled 9 using 1d10.  +2 DEX = 7 initiative.

09:15, Today: Harticus rolled 10 using 1d10.  Helmites initiative.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:24, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

Cast prayer:

Affects all friendlies to me:

6 rounds

+1 to hit +1 Dmg  +1 Saving throws

09:19, Today: DonBrappo rolled 2 using 1d10.  initiative.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:24, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 37):

Kailute, not really giving a shit about propriety throws a chair at one of the zhents.

15:40, Today: Kailute Crashhawk rolled 3 using 1d20 ((3)).

I'm not sure if we are adding strength or dex to that sort of throw.  With a 3 it doesn't matter.  Upon missing, assuming the chair hits someone else, Kailute will shrug apologetically.

Initiative:

15:38, Today: Kailute Crashhawk rolled 7 using 1d10 ((7)).

On his turn, Kailute will pick up another chair and move in to try to knock down a zhent, preferably pinning him under the legs.

In the ensuing chaos, Traynin and Delbar dive beneath your table.  Traynin scurries between Kailutes massive legs, while Delbar shivers next to the main table leg.
Off to the east, the dark haired human steps up from the table, and assumes a read position, but remains just outside melee range.

The various patrons begin to realize a violent ruckus is upon them Flagon, and move with some experience away from the various corners.

Quilro moves furtively along the north wall, seeking shadows and positions himself within striking range behind the Zhent leader.

09:19, Today: Harticus, on behalf of Quilro, rolled 74 using 1d100 ((74)).

Kailute’s tossed chair sails over both tables, and explodes with force against the far wall between Quilro and the grizzled veteran.  The gray-haired warrior makes a sidelong look at the chair, and continues to calmly quaff his mug of ale.

The Zhents attempt to begin to prepare for battle, but their spellcasters are stymied by the apparent magical blockade on their vocal casting, and the three to the north appears compelled to remain in their seats.  Those remaining in control of their faculties twist to find the Helmites either rising directly behind them to engage with their melee weapons, or leaping atop the table to dive directly into the fray.

cast aid on Kailute:

in addition to the prayer bonuses of +1 to hit/dmg and +1 ST for 6 rounds

it gives him 1-8 additional hp + an additional +1 to hit for 7 rounds

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 40):

Kailute gives a nod of appreciation to Don Brappo.  Having little use for spell casters or Zhents, Kailute will try to clobber whichever caster is closest with the chair.  Sure, strategically it makes more sense to go after the big guys, but that's just not the way of the Barb.  Also, he read an article about fireballs and is against them.

Their attention focused on the Helmites, the Zhents don’t observe either DonBrapp’s spellcasting, or Quilro’s movement to the far side of the common room.

Three burly clerics turn on the disadvantaged Zhents.  One throws a straight jab into the chest of his opponent, but his punch is absorbed by leather armor. The surprised thug stumbles back into the table.  The priest to his right jams the butt of his mace into the throat of the dark armored fighter behind him, and the victim stumbles back, choking for air.

Kailute raises the chair behind the head of the blond human at the west end of the table, and brings it crashing down on his head and shoulders.  He recoils in pain, half turning to face the large brute behind him in a scowl of anger and fear.

The halflings remain under the table, and Delbar attempts to slyly recover the foaming mug of ale from the table without attracting attention.

The last priest on the eastern end of the table has freed his morning star from his belt, and takes a full arcing swing, which misses his opponent and catches and splinters the end of the Zhent’s table.  The remaining three priests are readying weapons and attempting to get atop their table. The leader of the Helmites spins to face the lead Zhent, flinching in appreciation of the half-orc’s handy support.  He appears unarmed, but a footman’s mace is looped to his belt.

[OOC]  Quilro is unobserved, but no hidden.  Kailute has a temporary increase of 3 HP for the next 7 rounds.

6:27, Today: Harticus, for the NPC Helmite, rolled 8 using 1d20.  To hit morningstar.

16:25, Today: Harticus, on behalf of Kailute Crashhawk, rolled 7 using 1d6+5.  Chair damage +4 STR +1 Aid.

16:23, Today: Harticus, on behalf of Kailute Crashhawk, rolled 20 using 1d20+3.  To hit Zhent: +2 STR/+1 Aid.

16:21, Today: Harticus, for the NPC Helmite, rolled 5 using 1d8+1.  Mace damage.

16:15, Today: Harticus, for the NPC Helmite, rolled 16 using 1d20.  To hit.

16:14, Today: Harticus, for the NPC Helmite to hit., rolled 3 using 1d20+1.  To hit fist.

16:11, Today: Harticus, for the NPC Helmites, rolled 6 using 1d10.  Initiative.


This message was last edited by the GM at 20:39, Thu 23 Apr 2020.

In reply to Harticus (msg # 42):

D&D doesn't really specialize in good h2h combat rules, so if this is going to be a straight up HP battle, doing something cute like a sleeper hold is probably a bad idea.  So, Kailute will either a) attempt to choke out the guy he hit with the chair, b) smash his face into the table, or c) use the broken leg as a club to strike the guy.   Those are basically in order of preference based upon how we are handling maneuvers in combat.

whistles at kailute and waves wooden club as if to say i'll toss it to if ya' want it.

while the zhents are distracted by battle I will move silently toward the most available back pack or sack that is unattended and snatch it covering with cloak.

looking for intel more than treasure so if I notebook or scroll is available to grab off top may just do that instead

So, I got DonBrapp holding (advise if I am wrong), Kailute is grappling for submission the lead Zhent, and Quilro is looking for loose packs among the chaos.

Lemme know if I am missing anything, and I will push another round when I get back from work this afternoon.

The three Helmites launch themselves against the far row of Zhents, and both sides tumble to the floor in a mix of flailing limbs, destroyed benches, and flying maces.  Having been commanded to remain seated, the Zhents could do little but take the opening round of the angered priests.

Quilro darts an arm from under the table of one of the Zhents, a sable and felt bag somewhere between the size of a backpack and a pouch.  Looping it under his arm and ducking back into the shadows, it feels bulky with several objects contained inside.

Following the heave of his chair, Kailute locks the blonde human in a full nelson.  While above average strength for a a human, the shock of having a chair unexpectedly over his head, and the sheer size difference renders his attempts at resistance futile.

The lead priest smiles as he realizes this, and uses the advantage to send two mailed jabs straight into the tanned leather protecting the Zhents' torso, causing the blonde human to wince and exhale in pain while attempting unsuccessfully to writhe free of Kailute's grasp.

Traynin and Delbar look on from under the table, passing the mug of ale and trading bites of what remains of the snacks.

All things being equal, the Zhents are losing this fight due to surprise, and are not likely to stand and take the abuse much longer.

DonBrappo is content to watch the fray - drinking and burping and guffawing!

with stolen sack well hidden I will stand on table and yell

gentlemen lets help these men find the door before any deserving harm come to their corrupted asses!
 looking at halflings and my comrades

Pounding his flagon on the table DonBrappo yawps:

"Bully! Bully! Ears open to the regards of my dew drinking faithless woodland sprite of a demonsucking compatriot. This is a a haven, a sanctuary of engorgement and imbibing not a playground for spoon eared pink skins and their soft mating rituals!"

"So knock it off, Mayflies! I'm Eating over here!"

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 50):

Disappointed that no one is attempting to deal lethal damage to the Zhents, Kailute decides to try and end this quickly.  He will kick the knee out from under the guy he is holding, sinisterly whispers in his ear, "I'm just going to throw you out of the building, don't fight back or you may find out that things are much worse when I start to enjoy myself."  And drags him towards the door, and if able, throws the man into the street.

Guffawing and pounding his flagon on the table:

"I'd listen to the green beast if I were you. there's no quarter here for the likes of you short living smoothskins. Ha!"

Kailute easily pulls the lead Zhent out of the silenced zone, toward the northern window.  “…UNHAND ME YOU GREENSKINNED BRUTE!” wails the human, unable to escape or overcome the barbarian’s grasp.

The rough and tumble commoners of the Moonsea react favorably to Quilro’s exhortation, and some begin to grab clubs, table legs, whatever is handy for a quick menacing sucker shot at the black and purple garbed travelers.

The Helmites have dominated the exchange, and the priest on the far right recovers his mace, and with a backswing knocks the opposing man-at-arms from his table to the floor, likely crushing his elbow.  The two spellcasters histrionically mouth words that will not produce magic effects, and the remaining fighters break from their command to survey the situation.

As their leader is dragged from the table and roughly defenestrated, they all appear to be backing to the north, with intent of breaking for the door in the northeast corner.

“BRAY!  SCALAWAGS! CAN’T EVEN CAST A PROPER INSULT WITHOUT GETTING YER PURPLE ROBES TWISTED!” Yells Belgar from behind the bar, clearly enjoying this bit of excitement.
As the crowd closes around them, the Helmites hold back, and their apparent leader states:  “Enough.  We’ve enough work to smiting the infernals to waste our breath on these dogs.”  Their pride shredded, and their leader wiping broken glass and window slats from his traveling robes, the Zhents make a delaying withdrawal toward the door.  Jostled by the crowd, the aged warrior deftly puts a foot out as the last one passes, sending the spellcaster face first to the floor.  Without even pausing to look, the greyhair returns to his ale.

Traynin and Delbar pull themselves up to the table, flagons and plates empty.
Without too much by way of missed beats, the patrons return to their drinks and meals, and the Helmites settle back to their table.

“Many thanks, Wanderer.  May the Watcher keep thee.”  The lead priest offers his mailed hand to Kailute to shake.  “Mayhap the Keep of He Who Watches can buy you another round?”

In reply to Harticus (msg # 53):

"I need no watching from Helm or any other, but I'm glad to share a drink with anyone who hates those cursed Zhents, even gladder if the drink be bought for me."

"Well met, then.  Lady!  Another round for Helm and our friends here."  He yells toward Barla.

"Maktar, of Watcher's Hold in Hillsfar."  His grasp is firm and solid, and the human stands just about six feet tall.  "You wander far with the elf and dwarf?"  He inquires, motioning toward Quilro and DonBrapp.  "Word is they've kicked over a hive of bees, and it serves Helm to ensure as little as possible infernal filth escapes the abyss to trouble this world."

In reply to Harticus (msg # 55):

"Nay, I just met them.  Barely spoken to the elf, and while the dwarf seems a surly bastard, they seem to attract a sort of trouble -- and coin -- that appeals to me.  Them two tiny Harpers seem to want to get them to repossess or destroy some magic related to Malcho.  Mayhap you can sweeten the pot to get them to aid you in your work."

To the Harperlings:

"Exciting stuff! tell me what you can about these Helmites!"

"Well, sir dwarf, as you can see they are far more prone to action then stealth."  Traynin begins, casting a sideways glance toward the warriors and priests returning to their table and calling for mead.

"They are out of one of the larger temple of Helm in the Moonsea."  Delbar pipes up "Watcher's Hold!  ...not specifically one of Maalthiir's favorites, but a strong and powerful group, nonetheless.  A little grim and proper for my taste."

Trayning continues, annoyed "Yes, they're likely more interested in the glory for Helm than any of that Wizards nonsense.  But they've also not done much to stop the Elvish persecutions, either."

"It is Illayin's intent to clear out whatever evil remains and seize the remnants and the site for the Harpers, and the eventual return of a Druidic conclave."

Delbar belches, and finishes "Those louts are just as likely to stick a magic wand up their arse as they are to study it."

"Typical do good-louts. Let's collect our friends! Fetch  the green skin and and when the other louts have finished runnin' away fetch the yellow haired leaf licker - tell'm I got's a plan."

"What Da FUCK! I've been guffawin' and poundin' my flagon on the table for like 12 hours - would Buttercup McQuillyro and the rest of the Avengers assemble over here or what!?"

"All Fuckin' Day I guffaw and pound my flagon. A waitin' on the pointy eared butterboy - A waitin' on beardless chin folk!"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:24, Tue 28 Apr 2020.

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 60):

After making some polite conversation, Kailute will wander back over to Don Brappo's table.

To Kailute: "Har! Nice moves!"

To the 1/2lings: "Why don't one or the both of yoos go fetch us 4 flagons of the finest drink in the house on me and fetch my tab."

To Kailute and 1/2 lings: "We drink one more for the Green Beast here and than shall we retire to my rolling abode for  a feast of plenty and more plann'n on the venture we have at hand!"

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 62):

The Zhents have been momentarily thrown from the Flagon, and after probing and determining that Kailute was a newcomer to the recent heroes of Waymeet, he disenaged politely.  It was clear he was interested in Malcho's former grove, and any lingering evil in the area.

Traynin nods to Delbar, who scurries toward Barla for another round and DonBrapps tab.

"Aye.  Probably best to talk where we're not further overheard."  Traynin remarks flatly, cocking an eyebrow toward the Helmites returned to their table.

Motioning to Kailute to come closer as if to talk without being overheard:

"I have a venture brewin' with these two sneakies from the Harpers. It's worth 50pp if you're interested in a little dungeon clearin' and magic sourcin', findin', clearin' and what not."

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 64):

"I just arrived here, but I'm ready to head out.  Just need to grab my boar and point me in the right direction"

Delbar returns with another round, and the bill totals 50sp, a lordly sum even during the days when the caravans are plentiful.  Traynin flings 6 gold on the table, and turns to the dwarf and half-orc.

“Was that your caravan we observed at the wheelwright’s lot?  Quite comfortable for the road.  Perhaps in there we could speak more privately, and answer any remaining questions you might have for us lowly seekers.”

They are speaking of an ornately styled caravan wagon that DonBrapp and company had won in combat off the minions of the cambion Prenych.  Being of much higher quality design, and riding on four gnomish engineered shocks the wagon was of significant notice above and beyond the multitude of carts, open backed wagons, and caravan rolling stock that otherwise filled the yards and fields surrounding Waymeet.  It is known to most that this is where the “Victors over Malcho the Fallen” have made their mobile headquarters, when not otherwise found feasting at the flagon.

DonBrappo Guffaws and belches, standing for the first time all day since arriving at the Flagon: "Better your gold than mine ya slippy fingered leatherfoot! Let's be gone to the wagon of my ministry for feasting and discussin' there's much ado about something as usual! Har!"

once safely in the wagon I will share all I have found including coins to see what the party thinks

The durable felt traveling sack that Quilro pilfered from the lead Zhent contains several items.

A black quartz holy symbol of a human hand embossed in the center of a circular talisman.

Probably worth 1-5gp depending upon who would buy it.

A small leather coin purse contains four small lapis lazuli gems, a tiny emerald, 18pg, 25sp, 8cp.

Rolled into a bone white leather mapcase there is a map that covers the area from Zhentil Keep to Darkhold.  Along the route, several markings suggest river fords, grazing stashes, and rally points in purple ink.

There are three cork stoppered potion vials;  two of a milky blue solution and one that is clear flecked with gray specks.

Finally, there is a rolled letter scrawled in red on vellum parchment.

Elkdin,

  This shipment is of utmost importance.  The garrison at Darkhold is in desperate need of appropriate weapons, and these curry both the Dark One’s eminence, and enhance our ability to smite and inspire monsterkin.  Ensure they make the journey unmolested.  Our sea routes remain uncertain, and while long this delivery will earn you both prestige, favor in the network, and significant platinum.

  There is an opportunity for further dark glory.  Recent tales of a summoned infernal in the area of Waymeet have blessed the Dark One’s ears.  Any information you could glean on this would be useful, and well rewarded.  Take care, as there are others interested in this as well.

-May darkness shield thee, Xareth

Holding the vials up for a closer look "Hmmnnn....Potions"

To the 1/2lings: "Let's go Bilbos! Your the Harpers - scrutinize this letter."