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?"