Storms raged across the little kingdom of Alkuff. The heavens shook with thunder and and rippled with lightning. It was what the local inhabitants of the capital, Kardican, called Dragon Storms. Watchmen hunched in their cloaks, the night was cold and damp, even for an early spring night in the central highlands.

Lamps swayed and guttered, torches flickered and often went out, and the braziers of aged pine and yew hissed and popped under the storms assault. Horses left tied in the open jerked in their tethers, nervous and anxious in the night's tumult, many ripped free or tore down the hitching posts and bolted into the street searching for safety from the storm.

People ran from awning to porch to doorway under soaked hoods and rain pelted ponchos. Seeking cover was more a matter of wading than running as storm drains and sewers overflowed with the storm's runoff. The mud and muck stank like a moldy corpse and could numb the feet in its icy embrace in moments. Inside the homes of the capital, the good citizens both cursed and thanked the Gods.

At the Inn of the Hungry Unicorn people gathered. The owner, a dwarf known as Onik the Two Finger, always kept his roof well slated, his fire stoked high, and his ale room filled with kegs. Known for common luxury at decent prices and sumptuous living for quite bit more, the Inn of the Hungry Unicorn boasted one of the better kitchens in all of Kardican.

With a clientele as diverse as any in Vaiden, the Inn was nearly full. The common room bore long table covered in dirty crockery, empty flagons and jugs, and piled cloaks and weapons. Songs in at least four languages could be heard at any time. In the corners groups gamed with dice and coin, usually copper but some silver. Minstrels wondered, playing for those wanting to hear a song. Ladies of the night subtly plied the crowd looking for customers to service in the toilets, or their rooms if the customer had one.

Serving girls, showing more leg and cleavage as the night passed and the ale flowed, had taken to spicing mugs of ale and cups of tea with whiskey or schnapps to 'fight of the cold of the storm'. It didn't hurt the tips either.

An Orc, towering and overpoweringly smelly, sat at the head of a table. He played a battered lute with the skill of a surgeon. He told the tale, in his gruff and tusk accented voice, of a a pair of young lovers from rival families that went to great lengths to hide their love, and prevent a war between their families, but ultimately only found peace in death. Women swooned, men grinned, and wine was order by the flagon.

A young elven woman of memorable beauty danced among the raucous patrons, her charms on display through a sheer gown that barely covered what is didn't hide. She flirted, sang in several languages joining songs and celebrations alike. Ignoring honest offers best left to the ladies of the night, the young elf maiden titillated and gyrated and pickpocketed her way among the patrons.

A quiet man sat, cross-legged, near one of the fires. He wore only tunic and trousers but a cloak, boots, and robe hung behind him near the roaring fireplace. A plate holding the skin of a plum, some crusts of bread, and a few grains of rice bespoke of his simple meal. A skin a water rested near his leg, as did a small shoulder bag. He was covered in ritual brands, colorful tattoos, and menacing scars and despite the noise and activity seemed calm, serene almost to the point of being catatonic.

If asked, the usual patron would say it was just another night at the Inn. Minus the storm off course, but then, they were here three years ago when the nights of ice had come to the kingdom. The candles burned low but spirits ran high.

(This will be the actual starting location for the upcoming adventure. I hope it gives you a little to work with. I'm still working on some maps. I don't care if you all know each other or not. Remember good backstories are worth extra perks. We will hopefully be ready to begin on Wednesday or Thursday, unless you need more time. I'm ok with that too.)

A small gnome sat by the orc strumming her ukelele to his song. The girl had curly, honey golden locks tied in an updo, pinned by a tiny hat. She was adorned by jewelery and her beautiful blue dressed and leather boots made her look like she belonged in some far off court, not an Alkuff inn. She smiled, sweatly up at the orc as she invited herself into the song, making it a duet. Her large purple-blue eyes glazed over with little white specks, making them look like a midnight sky. She took a swig of her Linnorm mead and plucked away.

ooc Perform (string) 10:33, Today: Penny Perseus rolled 27 using 1d20+12 ((15)).

Penny strummed her Ukulele with ease, comfortable in the rough hewnness of the Inn, enjoying the coarseness of Orc's style of play and singing. It was a new thrill, melding the smooth harmony of her soul with the hard, chaotic chords of the Orcs. In moments people began to grow more boisterous, and more generous. Coins fell at Penny's small feet, mostly copper but the occasional silver tinkled to the floor boards as well.

A storm of auspice, the shaman would call it. Thunder would rumble and the trees would move, some so deeply rooted with winds so strong that the rock and ground would move too. In many forests this was cause to claim the earth itself was haunted, but in the Dunwood it was less haunted and more inhabited. A time to go forth, to raid, to hunt. Big orcs didn't like it, worgs and big goblins didn't like it either. The storms were sent by the favour of the gods, the real gods, to allow the goblin to hunt uncontested.

"Merry Oxpiss! Oh happy, happy Oxpiss!"

The goblin skipped, high-kicked and twirled through the muddy flooded streets, roaring with a cackling laughter as unsettling as the reek that clung to him. He overstepped and crashed into the water, sending a splash up, but this simply seemed to make him merrier twice over.

"RAWWR!!" he roared into the night, seemingly aimed at a passing galloping horse. His snarl was only tempered by a licking of his gumline as his stomach rumbled

"Must get in. In food? Why do they call it in I wonder?"

The Hungry Unicorn looked promising. A fearful and monstrous beast was the unicorn, appearing here and there as a figure of death to good gods-fearing goblins. Surely here Barg, Dunwood bastard runt, could find a challenge. Or a chicken.

The door swung open with some force as the goblin made an entrance

"Apologies. I wish to be in an In-side, get In-food. I have copper coins which I have not shaved! Merry Oxpiss!"

He produced a small handful of coins to no one in particular, doffing his poncho to drape it over the non-coin holding arm. He patted his belt pouch, which shifted and murmured a croak as he strode in further, looking up at all the bigger people while he hoped to find the person who made the in-food, trailing the horrid stench of his corded leather hide and fibrous armour.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:50, Tue 26 May 2020.

Brengalyn rode with some purpose to get out of the rain. Her armour, her clothes, all of it was soaked. Her boots swam with water and her hair was matted to her face. A dragon storm wasn't uncommon, but she'd hoped to beat it. Now she was wet and cold and worst of all, astride a quarrelsome warhorse who appreciated the weather even less.

Urging Velvet onward, Brena slowed her mount when they reached the Hungry Unicorn. A passing merchant on the road had recommended the place when pressed, though it likely had more to do with the prostitutes and barmaids now that she saw it. The towering warrior swung down off her horse and led Velvet to see if there was a groom available to attend her.

"She'll need a brush, and a drying. This saddle and blanket too, all need attending."

The groom or stableboy likely knew all this, or if they didn't they were likely no help at all to Brengalyn, but she left Velvet to the stabling all the same for the night, approaching the inn proper then

Entering she removed her leather gloves, attempting to turn out the cotton lining slightly as she approached the man or woman in charge.

"I've a horse, and need of a room."

Her voice boomed in accordance with her size, the frizzy tangled mop of dark hair dripping from the rain as she leaned, smacking her gloves down on a nearby surface, putting her coin purse on top of them as emphasis of the heft of her coins.

"And I'll need beer, wine and something decent to eat."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:44, Thu 28 May 2020.

Thamkis stared at the tea pot with a look of longing mixed with annoyance. She'd been all over and seen all sorts of teas but you never knew if you were getting a good one until they brought it to you. Until it steeped and mixed and created the flavours.

But she just wanted a tea. Graham murmured unhelpfully, stowed in her haversack.

"Yes. I know I'm waiting too long in your opinion. I like strong tea! And as you don't eat anything at all I don't see why you're complaining. I told you it'd rain, oh these bones aren't just sly, they're weather divination rods! And I got us here, all four safe and sound! Why I'll bet right now those two are eating apples and pissin' off some lordling's palfrey with their jawing, just you see."

She waggled a finger at her haversack

"And don't you be making those faces, I know how you are. Disapproval doesn't suit you. Now hush."

With keen eye Thamkis watched the gnome and orc duet. A strange game they played those two, and like as not one which would be playing it's own drama before long. The gnome had a look of more than an entertainer or musician, she was that virulent sort, the bard. Dilettantes of the ancient studies, long since abandoning their stations for fame and easy living. She wondered what would bring one to play the Unicorn, for its reputation was not the kind to bring well-heeled folks . . .