Our story begins on a cool, spring afternoon in the rolling countryside of a rural duchy, where six travelers are making their way down the road to the capital, Red Fern, about two days' travel away...

"...which is why you should never trust a gnoll, particularly at dice," Yatari explained, holding her hands palm up and shrugging.  "But these are things only experience can teach.  Ah!  But look at those flowers!"  She gestured to the expansive rosebushes growing merrily along the roadside, thorns the length of bodkins, flowers curling and blooming to their viney hearts' content.

She couldn't match Lani for stories, but Yatari tried to give as good as she got with The Antic.  It wasn't fair to compare yourself completely to a professional, after all, and the chronicler was a beautiful soul when it came to the written--and spoken!--word.  "I hope there aren't any spiders lurking within that bush," she added quietly, her accent curling each word she spoke with the desert flair of her homeland.

Lani laughed merrily at the end of Yatari's anecdote, all the while plucking her lute to give them a bit of tune on the long road. "I dearly pity any person who cheats you at dice, Yatari! Let alone at something with higher stakes. But darlings, she cast her gaze over the rest of their motley band, "we mustn't be too hard on them. They've an awful lot of living to get done in thirty short years. Dare I say, any of us might engage in a bit of poor gamesmanship with so little sand in the glass. Not very much time for experience, hey?"

The ersatz bard's smile spread and brightened at the attention to the roadside rosary, fearing she might have been the only of the bunch to spy them as they passed. The Antic's fingers stopped their careful plinks as she veered off the road, and pulled the dagger from her right shoulder to carefully cut one of the plentiful flowers from its thorny briar. "[Language unknown: Ilte ei ion t sanovever,]" she whispered, and waved her hand over the rose. A breath of cool settled over the flower, which would keep the petals pretty and lively for at least an hour.

"All fine performances should be rewarded thusly," the elf beamed, then presented Yatari with the boutonniere-ready bud. With a swing of her hips, Lani resumed the tune she had been plucking. Although it bore no magic, she sincerely hoped it would keep the group's spirits up.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xD5H1o9oOOo

"Frankly, I'm still astounded that you found a gnoll smart enough to understand how to play dice." Towering over the bard and the scholar, Davor casts an imposing shadow which is enhanced all the more by the massive scythe strapped to his back. Next to the picturesque countryside, the brutish looking half-orc looks distinctly out of place; an impression which is not improved by the party pausing next to the rose bush. "My tribe would often skirmish with gnoll tribes over hunting grounds and the like. Their tactics made orc war chiefs look like masters of strategy."

The light behind Davor's eyes danced madly for a moment. "... whispers about roses in bloom. A reminder that life is fleeting." He almost mumbles the phrase to himself, but then grins. "All the more reason leave a more permanent impression, eh?"

He eyes Yani curiously. "We didn't have bards of course, but it all comes down to the same thing. Being one of the names in the stories that get told over and over."

Myre tilted her head as Yatari stopped by the rosebush. Myre had been doing that a lot lately, her head wobbling from side to side as her brow furrowed and she attempted to work out her travelling companions. She lifted a corner of her mouth in a confused smirk as the winged woman stopped by the flowers, "They're just flowers..." She softly wondered to herself, not like they were pretty mushrooms or anything. Although as Yatari continued Myre's smirk grew into a wide grin, "Oh, I'm sure there are lots of spiders in there."

She didn't know much about gnolls, or games of chance, but Myre couldn't help but return the smile as Lani cast her eyes over her. She had no answer for the songstress' possibly rhetorical question on the lifespan of gnolls so she was content that Davor was able to comment on the creatures.

"Very nice." She complimented Lani on her choice of flower. "Check it for spiders!" She played it straight, but it might have been a joke.

As Lani picked up the song again Myre remained by Davor's side, a thick grey tower looming over her slight frame. She, yet again, tilted her head as Davor half-mumbled a phrase about the blooming rose. Myre nodded sagely, apparently finding some sense to the words whether it was there or not.

Goon thought, by now, he certainly found his place in the greater whole of the group.

He was originally next to Davor; it was amusing to march alongside a fellow half-orc whom he could meet eye-to-eye. At least physically. It was habit for him to size the fellow adventurer up, but like most he's "worked with" in his experience, it was never the big ones that were the problem. They were often the solution. It would still take a while for Goon not to do that. They had some time.

Wonder what it's like, to be raised by orcs?

Davor's uniquely orc experience was much different than his own. Raised by his human father, Goon wasn't blessed with knowledge of orc history, of tribal acceptance. His respect, his income, had been gained through fear. This fear came more from his girth than anything else.

Goon never thought he looked too scary, but that wasn't good for business.

As the sun continued its gentle crest, Goon tried a spot near Yatari. He really tried not to stare too often. Really, she was a fascinating sight. Goon had seen all manner of kin as a working urbanite, but not a tiefling so...tiefling. How did she navigate the world with wings so...wingy? How did she hail from sands with skin so...pale? How was she, like Davor, nearly as tall as he was?

But Goon fought to avert his eyes. He remembered the exotic animals at his employers' abode, and always wondered how that would feel, to be used to tickle the aesthetic senses of visitors, to be gawked at by guests in a home not your own? Goon guessed Yatari knew exactly what that felt like.

By now, Goon had sided on his spot. Out to the side of the group, near the rear, where he could cast his eyes out to the countryside. So much grass. So much dirt. So much sky. When he had decided to become an adventurer, Goon had expected least of all to see so much of nothing, yet find so much wonder

It was still new, interesting, refreshing, to find one's self at being a part of a larger whole.

Like a bellows beneath the earth, Goon chuckled at Yatari's story. But he'd never seen a gnoll. That was the problem that came with little formal education. Maybe a gnoll was what you called a lady gnome? That couldn't be right; he'd keep that thought to himself.

"We mustn't be too hard on them. They've an awful lot of living to get done in thirty short years."

Goon smiled sadly at the thought. It was sobering to think he was nearly at the prime of his life already. It was a key reason in his getting on the road, out of the city, out into the world. Spending the rest of his years getting cut up in the alcohol-drenched, smoke-laden company of tavern hoppers and cushy aristocracy wasn't an ideal retirement plan. Surely Davor would have some opinions about the peak of life. Surely Goon had an idea by now where that direction would head with the death-talking cleric.

"All the more reason leave a more permanent impression, eh?"

Like clockwork.

Myre's eight-legged interest no longer seemed random to Goon. Never had he smelled someone so in-tune with nature. He compared her essence to what a beggar's alley would smell like in the country, but more real wet and less...well...the other kind of wets one finds in a beggar's alley. For all Goon knew, maybe that mudnure (which was it?) all over her was a skin treatment. She was nice enough at least.

This is adventuring, huh?

Goon was far from shy, but for now kept his thoughts to himself. The music, the view, the experience did something to him he didn't have the words for. Maybe this is the inspiration he's known bards to speak of. In a fit of this feeling, Goon pulled his hand drum from his pack, threw the strap across his thick shoulder, and played gently alongside Lani's lute-leading melody.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:38, Wed 05 May 2021.

Sakr walks in front of the others, listening to them chat behind him as they travel but contributing little to the conversation himself. He had been with them for a few days, mostly for practical reasons: they were headed to Red Fern, too. Also, while he didn't have much experience with people outside of the small community in the mountains in which he was raised, especially people so different than him, he knows that he will have to grow accustomed to being around others if he intends to explore the larger world. I wonder if Red Fern is full of these types of people... he thinks as they walk.

He has revealed little about himself to his current traveling companions since meeting them, but, though guarded and quiet, he has forced himself to be friendly with these strangers. They seem nice enough, if quite different than anyone he has met previously, and there's that old saying, "Safety in numbers," so he figures its best to stick with them, at least for now.

When Lani and Goon start playing a song behind him, he grimaces slightly, but keeps his eyes forward so as to not reveal his distaste, and says nothing.

Smiling brightly, Yatari accepted the prestidigitationed rose and held it gently in one hand.  "Although in that same vein, I wonder if I owe you and Goon something for your music?"  Either way, Yatari carefully appended the preserved rose behind her ear, careful not to smash it against her left-most horn while she got it into position.  Myre's comments about spiders being abundant in the bush brought about a pout, and she wagged her finger at the tiny druid.  "Now that you've said so, the Gods will have heard!  I hope they do not feel in a giving mood today!"

Davor's commentary made Yatari pause and consider.  They were an unfortunately stupid race, gnolls.  Whether that was because--as Lani indicated--they were shortlived, or because they relied on predator satiation, or whatever the case, it was a sad fact.  They made for awful participants in deals.  "Permanent impressions... the little moments that scream into the void: I was here!  I mattered!  Lani will sing about the five of us, I have no doubt.  Whether she does so as footnotes to her own story..."  Another palms-up shrug.  Gone was the pout--Yatari's tiefling smirk was back in as full a bloom as the roses were.

"But then, that's why we're on this road, isn't it?  We all seek something..."

With Goon handling the downbeat, Lani was free to get a little more playful on the potbellied lute's myriad strings. She backed off periodically to let the titanic drummer get his own expression in, though. Myre got a playful wink about the spider comment, and it was tempting to play a little joke on Yatari by brushing an imaginary creepy-crawly from her hair. As much as Lani liked an excuse to touch the tiefling's silken red locks, though, she refrained.

"The tales you all grace me with are worth very much more than a bit of light music," Lani assured Yatari, and everyone else, with a glowing smile.

"And sing of you I shall! Oral histories are among our world's most beautiful works, Davor, and I thank you for mistaking me for the true professionals," she drifted backwards to give the priestly half-orc and his mighty scythe a respectful nod. "Though it is I who shall be the footnote! It's a mighty ego, indeed, who meets five fascinating people, puts ink to page about their lives, and still fashions herself as the most twinkling star in the sky." She made a pointed look at Sakr's dark frame at the head of the pack. "Even when some of them revel in being the strong, silent type."

There was perhaps more Lani could say on the subject of gnolls, but she held her tongue. She'd been around long enough to have an idea what Davor spoke of, and to hear more than one heartbreaking tale about what happened when a tribe like that turned their sights on those less-prepared.

"A wonderful insight, Yatari! What puts us all on the road to Red Fern, darlings? What is it you're seeking?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:52, Wed 05 May 2021.

Myre's jibes (Davor assumes that she is teasing Yatari) elicit a grin from the half-orc, who manages to restrain himself from barking out a laugh. He manages to control himself enough to agree with Yatari's sentiment. "Something mischievous will hear, no doubt." He allows himself a small chortle as he resumes the march.

Davor gets a faraway look in his eyes when Lani asks what he is seeking. "The spirits tell me about many things. Lately, they've been telling me that my destiny begins at the end of this road. Or at least at the end of a road. It was a road leading to a fiery bush anyway. So when I heard you and Yatari talking about a place called Red Fern, I made a decision. I swear on my grandmother's ashes that I won't be as cryptic with my descendants when I speak to them from beyond the veil." By the end of his statement, Davor's gaze has returned to the road ahead and his expression is one of exasperation.

The wooden flute stuck in a pocket of Davor's backpack stays there as Lani and Goon play their song. If he has any inclination to join in, Davor doesn't show it.

Suddenly, the party hears a rumbling from around the bend ahead of them and six horses with riders come into view. The riders whip their mounts, driving them onward. As they charge past the party, the travelers can't help but notice the lead rider, a brutish human with a handlebar mustache and a black eyepatch. An elaborate dragon tattoo covers the left side of his face, and he sports several bloody wounds. The six humans and their mounts race past the travelers without a second look, then turn abruptly off the road and charge up the side of a nearby hill.

Myre opened her mouth in mock shock as Yatari shook a finger at her and when Davor commented on mischievous spirits Myre sighed, "Oh, we can only hope!" All this walking was decidedly dreary.

Myre occasionally cast her eyes to Goon as he moved about the group as they travelled. She smiled politely when he looked her way and if she noticed that he hadn’t stopped beside her then she didn't seem worried. She may have been a bit intimidated by the size of the half-orc, as with Davor the racial brethren both towered over her. This was except for the fact she had now spent some time with Davor and her opinion on half-orcs had settled into a rather positive one, especially on her current companions.

The strange, mostly silent man who led the way was still a mystery to her. She could understand the possible reasons for his restraint; they were a curious group who drew a lot of eyes. Being stared at was not something Myre was a stranger to but since joining with these other travellers the stares were not followed with insults about her stinky self or how dirty her clothes were. Now, it seemed, while being stared at was still commonplace the gawkers kept their yaps shut and moved on. Eyes still followed them; especially Yatari who, while beautiful, Myre couldn't quite decide if she was truly a devil or just the distant progeny of an infernal master. Well she certainly seemed to enjoy nature, which was a good enough reason for Myre to enjoy her company and ignore her heritage.

Myre grinned at Lani's wink and while a bit too verbose for the cloistered druid Myre definitely appreciated the mischievous nature of the woman. As the minstrel poked fun at Sakr Myre couldn't help but chime in, "Oh, we can't be too hard on him. Perhaps he has a terrible singing voice. Or maybe he's a dancer... he looks like he could dance." She raises her voice, "Hey Sakr! Can you dance?"

As the riders flew past Myre frowned at their passing, "What's the hurry?" She peered down the road from where they came, "Hope they're not running from something? We are headed that way, yes?"

Sakr considers responding to Lani and Myre but his thoughts are cut off by the sudden rumbling up ahead. He stops in his tracks and instinctively reaches for his bow and an arrow as the riders approach. When they pass by without so much as a glance at him or the others, he frowns and furrows his brow, puzzled by the incident.

"They were definitely fleeing something," Sakr says, turning to face the rest of the party. "Stay alert as we proceed." He then turns back toward the direction of travel and continues to lead the party down the road, keeping his bow at the ready.

At the warning from Sakr Myre stops for a moment. Holding her staff before her in both hands she kneels before it. Tapping the staff on the ground pale spores fall from the mushrooms and cover her form, "Puipuiga!"[Language unknown: "Cadiekmasa!"]

An arcane shield in a green tortoiseshell pattern clings to her briefly, rolling from her head to her feet.

She stands, looking between her companions, and shrugs. "I dunno, he seems worried." Indicating Sakr.

Casting Mage Armor.

Goon took no excess with his freedom on the drum, but he did not play meekly. His fills weer syncopated and multi-tonal, tuned with practiced strikes. It seemed years of waiting around and slapping at his thighs did not go completely to waste. There was a muse about him, though he was far from a bard.

Davor's decision of his deed in death made Goon snicker appreciatively, and Lani and Myre's shared ribbing of Sakr made him belly chuckle. Along this trip the big bouncer never thought he'd laugh so much. The fresh air, the kind company, it was messing with his head. He needed a drink to dampen all of this silly clarity.

The thunder of hoofs added so much need confusion to his day. Goon hardly slowed his drumming as the riders rushed past. He was well-practiced in assessing threats quickly. Or maybe he was a little slow. Either way, after they passed, he calmly put away the drum. Looks like their wouldn't be music for now.

"They were definitely fleeing something,"

"Maybe they're late for a dinner party." Goon mumbled, his voice deep as cave waters, a quick clip behind the consonants. They're was a slur in his word; whether it was a product of city living or the scar caused by his missing tusk was a mystery. Maybe it was both.

"I dunno, he seems worried."

Goon made a thoughtful "huh" sound. He imagined when you could perform magical manifestations, you could easily subdue your sense of caution. He kept his eyes on the riders, watching them as they charged up the hill. Now he wondered why they didn't have horses.

Oh yeah. Because horses were expensive.

"I'll be back."

Goon thumbed his nose, then jogged after the riders. He certainly didn't hope to catch up to the riders, but his long-legged stride was an attempt to crest the hill and see where they went.

Rolled a Nat 1 for Perception on their initial pass.

Moving to the top of the hill to see where they're headed.

Davor has the presence of mind to move to the side of the road before the riders charge past and he does not draw his weapon. After they have turned off the road and charged up the hill, he looks back down the road to see if there is anyone, or anything, following them.

Like Myre, Davor deems the strange encounter enough to warrant a little extra caution. He pulls a small flask from a pouch at his side, speaks a word in orcish as he passes a hand over it, and then takes a swig of the apparently black liquid inside before replacing it.

[Language unknown: "Eianunat!"]

As he swallows, the veins of his neck glow briefly with a pale green light and travel down towards his chest before disappearing under his armor. He lets out a loud, satisfied breath and grins. "I hope that's a sign that there's more excitement to come. They looked like they had been in a fight recently."

Davor rolled 7 using 1d4+4.  False Life.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:49, Fri 07 May 2021.

Goon made his way off towards the group of men, but Yatari took to the skies instead.  She couldn't determine--in that fleeting moment--whether the obvious bandit man was in fact a bandit.  She felt confident he was, but 'Your Honor, I was very certain the shady-looking man was up to no good!  He was driving too fast!  With mutton chops and a facial tattoo!' wasn't going to hold water anywhere she wanted to be.

Goon was off looking for where the posse was going, so Yatari attempted to look and see whether there was something chasing them, or perhaps a pile of bodies, or some smoldering ruins... something that would be more conclusive proof.  While Davor and Myre used their magic, Yatari put her body to work in order to try and obtain the information she sought.

The merriment and excitement of traveling with a group of interesting people paled in comparison to the sudden jolt of adrenaline at the thought.  Davor's commentary about cryptic ancestors had very nearly elicited a double entendre from the tiefling, so she was at least grateful she didn't have to apologize to a group of relative strangers for her bawdy sense of humor.

Imagine the lack of decorum!

20:31, Today: Yatari rolled 7 using 1d20.  Perception.  I don't think she sees anything from on high.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Fri 07 May 2021.

Lani giggled to herself listening to Davor's answer to the question of what he sought. She wondered if anyone's else mind was going to the place hers went, but the six riders came barreling past and utterly messed up the comedic timing before she could comment. Top that with Sakr running ahead, Goon running behind, Yatari going full demoness and the group's two most fragrant members getting their magic on, the Antic found herself at a little bit of a loss.

"Lady Adventure, she doth call. And what a bitch she is." Lani shrugged and gave her dark hair an airy whip around her shoulders. First thing's first, she slung her lute across her back and shook her hands loose. One must always warm up the muscles before exertion! You can't pose heroically after doing something dashing and sexy if your hamstring is on fire, literally or otherwise, that was her dear papá's wisdom! And Nigelus Merrweneh was rarely wrong about anything -- except his taste in partners.

Then, with all the practiced flair of a stage performer, the Antic slid her shortswords from the scabbards at her lower back, gold silks fluttering from their handles and striking a damn fine contrast with her drab armor. They looked even better when she was dressed for show, but her performing costume would be an absolute wreck from even an hour on the open road.

So armed, Lani ran ahead after Sakr, hoping to help the ranger spy whatever might have sent the riders riding.

21:11, Today: Lani rolled 10 using 1d20+4.  Perception.

By the time Goon got to the top of the hill, the wild-out riders were long gone by every stretch of his sight. He stood there for a bit, trying to pierce the mystery of the world's curvature and foliage for any signs of their traversal. Nothing was made known. Seemed his work here was done.

The group would see Goon jog back, his pace casual but noticeably unhindered by his pack and what little weaponry one could see. He slowed to a stop, meeting their expressions (and possibly Sakr's back) with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Ain't see 'em." The ex-forcer pulled a wayward gold-nocked loc out his face, behind a slanted ear. "'Ey're long out." He noticed Lani's sword-bearing, jut his chin at her, and smiled. Or tried to. One corner raised enough to remove some of the deadpan from his face, which in turn widened the space in his mouth where his tuskless teeth could be seen beyond the scar.

"Look right t'ave a chatty wittem fat lady pig pokas?" He followed the statement with a waggle of a brow as his voice changed from bass to mezzo-baritone. "M'choppas bene for t'Lay, gone get." His own hand patted at one of the three hand-axes strapped to his chest as he winked at her. The group would have heard Goon and Lani pass a couple of cryptic quips, some unusual questions along their journey. While Goons city speech was generally subtle, it seemed that another side of him was accessed when he shared the strange speech with the sometimes-sordid sworded performer.

Goon sighed as he continued with the group. "Maybe we'll find a party ahead." he mumbled, back to his regular rumble. "Hope 'ey still got invitations."

After a few moments of fruitless searching, Yatari alighted upon the earth again.  On the plus side, she didn't cast a shadow so at least no one had their view marred by her temporary aerial antics.  "I couldn't see anything of note, but that's more an indictment of my own abilities than it is a reflection of the Truth," she grumbled, a quick prestidigitation to keep her finery dust-free.  "What a peculiar group.  We all sensed that, right?"  Of course they did--everyone seemed ready for combat, if combat had come along.

"Well..."  She cleared her throat.  "I think we were learning about what motivates everyone to travel, were we not?  Someone was interrupted by the sudden horses."

Lani was still trying to see, but she strongly doubted that she would notice anything that Yatari, who had literally been in the sky, did not. The elf thoughtlessly twirled the sword in her right hand, rolling the curved crossguard over her middle finger back and fore and back again.

"An, ii're rum li'a chawlder tap," the Antic replied to Goon off-handedly, in an accent so dense it might have been literal stone. "Moky to salan 'ibne uon sy intan banasko. To'm 'ibne a bitama--" Lani stopped herself and squinted tightly. "Sorry. I mean: To dinnae like tae lay down cramp words. Ah'm nae a hitter nor a grampa." Lani smiled apologetically to Goon, and shrugged with her swords up.

"I may be overestimating the body language of a broad back, but Sakr seemed poised to say something before those gentlemen came a-riding by on whatever grim business they have. I dearly hope they had a simple lover's quarrel, not that there's something ill towards Red Fern that we've failed to suss out. Lani let her swords fall by the silks, looped into her pinkies so she wouldn't drop them outright, and cupped her hands over her mouth. "Sakr! Do you see anything? And if you don't, what brings your possibly-dancing self down this colorful spring road?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:15, Fri 07 May 2021.

As the others darted or flew about trying to work out the curious passersby Myre didn't move after casting her spell. It was only due to Sakr's words of caution that she even did that. The riders who sped past the group didn't concern her, after all they had passed without incident. What had her concerned was what was ahead, and her eyes remained fixed on the road. She still seemed ready for troble, especially as the others in the group followed her in their casting or drawing of weapons. It seemed though, that any potential for immediate trouble had passed.

Myre nodded in agreement with Davor, it did seem as the horsemen had escaped some fight further down the road. "Looks like it might be our fight next." Her eyes widened as she bobbed about, trying to see further along their path. It was difficult to tell if it was in anticipation or hesitation.

She had no idea what was going on between Goon and Lani and turned back and quizzically looked between them when they started speaking in the strange accent. She could make out the words but they just didn't make sense! What by rot was a 'lady pig pokas'? Or a 'li'a chawlder tap'? She shrugged and instead addressed Yatari, "A peculiar group? Them or us?" This time a smirk did play across her lips which only widened as Lani brought the attention back to Sakr. It seemed Myre was not the only one curious about the brooding man.

Curious to see what had brought the strange group of horsemen barreling down the road, Davor resumed walking back the way the horsemen had come. He followed Sakr at a distance that would allow the ranger to scout without interference, but not so far away that Davor couldn't reach him quickly.

Also not one to let the strangeness of a situation distract him, Davor chimes in with some thoughts of his own. "People have told me that orcish is an incomprehensible language and that they have no idea how orcs learn to speak it. I try not to take offense at the implication, but I always reply that there is no language in the world so incomprehensible as common." He turns briefly to look pointedly at Lani and Goon before glancing at Myre and cocking an eyebrow.

"Hmm? No, I don't see anything," Sakr says, stopping and turning to face the others. "But we should still be careful." He pauses a moment then continues, "What brings me here? I suspect the same thing as the rest of you: the need for a change." He then continues down the road toward their destination.

The party continues along the road for about two miles before reaching a small town with about two dozen buildings. As the party enters the quiet town, they spot a man nailing a notice to the front of a door. It reads:

Wanted Alive!
"Bruiser" Holloway
Reward for capture: 1,000 gold pieces

Beneath the writing is an unflattering drawing of a brutish man with an enormous handlebar mustache, a black eyepatch, and an elaborate tattoo of a green dragon coiling about the left side of his face.

"Lucky we didn't engage him," Yatari murmured, examining the notice.  "Knowing he must be brought in alive is very valuable.  And a thousand pieces of gold..."  A little inconvenient, given it didn't divide into six particularly easily, but that meant there was potentially room for negotiation...

Scritching along her chin with her somehow-purple-polished nails, Yatari considered the situation.  "Sakr, Davor, you're both men of the--" she made a little hand motion towards nature, "--world.  And Myre, you're a woman firmly of the loam.  Do any of you three, by chance, have training in tracking?"

Myre looked to the sign with a grin, "They're not very good at drawing. But I suppose it gets the point across." It was fortunate this Bruiser Holloway was so distinctive, the artist may have had some trouble drawing somebody with a less notable appearance.

She was brought out of her daydreaming when Yatari mentioned her name, "Oh, yes. It shouldn't be hard for me to track a horse, let alone six." She looked back down the road they travelled, "We know where they went off road, so it should be easy."

"It shouldn't be too difficult to find him," Sakr says with a nod. "But I'm not tracking anyone unless I know who wants him captured and why." He approaches the man who had posted the sign and asks, "Excuse me, sir, but who is this 'Bruiser' fellow, and what did he do that would warrant a thousand gold piece reward for his capture?"

Davor grins at Yatari, appreciating the wit in her comment about bringing Bruiser in alive. "As Myre says, it shouldn't be too hard to track six men on horseback when we know where they went off the road. I have to agree with Sakr though, better find out what he's wanted for at least. Don't get me wrong, I'll never say no to a path so clearly laid out by fate, but there's no need to rush off."

"Bruiser Holloway is wanted for stealing the official molds for the duchy's silver piece," the messenger replies to Sakr. "Did you say you saw him and know where he went? Well, if you all can capture Bruiser yourselves before reinforcements from Red Fern arrive, the reward is yours for the taking! Now if you'll excuse me, I've got more notices to post." He then hurries off with his wanted posters.

By the time the group found themself in the tiny town, Goon had found himself at the back of the group. It seemed right enough to wander at the rear, allowing the shorter half of their party to get a good view of the township. The freshly mounted sign had quickly drawn his attention alongside the others, and he squinted his eyes tighter with every word. Seemed that they let their bar tab run right by them.

"Hoh."

It was distinct, the way Goon's thoughtful huff opened up from his gut as he  scratched at his stomach. Knowing half of their company were skilled trackers made the prospect seem even more enticing. Davor and Sakr's hangups for "reasons" did damper his mood. It was easy to get caught up in the logistics. Sometimes you were simply paid to punch someone out.

Hopefully the signman's answer assuaged his companion's curiosity.

"Well, 'is here town looks light on the buffet," Goon mutters. He always mutters, like a hollow boulder with a smart mouth. "Might as well round up our room an' board."

Goon hoped his company would be able to see Bruiser like he did; as his bed, breakfast, and beer.

"He stole from the duchy itself," Sakr thinks aloud. "He must not be the brightest fellow... Well, then, it seems that we'll want to hurry if we want to catch this Bruiser before the royal forces arrive."

"Or this 'duchy' isn't strong enough to hold power in the area. It doesn't speak to the chief's leadership if a gang of men can steal their valuables." Davor raises an eyebrow at Sakr. "Putting up a poster in the middle of town offering a reward, a big reward, makes it seem like the chief's men probably won't be along to deal with the situation any time soon."

The big orc shrugs. "Still, it sounds like a good time so I say we go for it." He chuckles in agreement with Goon's sentiment. "With that much coin, even the most respectable inn keepers won't turn us away."

"Oh, I'll take care of that part, even if I weren't entitled to a sixth share myself," Lani chuckled warmly. She certainly didn't pay for inns out of pocket when she could help it, and she had hoped to leverage her own respectability as a performer to make sure her traveling companions were treated well.

"Now come on, let's go blaze this trail! This is how all the epics start, a group of almost-friends become embroiled in the troubles of a land from whence none of them hail, fell a current threat, and in so doing discover the great and terrible threat lurking in the shadows! Ooooooo!" The grinning elf made spooky fingers, already starting to back up the trail the way they came.

"Davor isn't wrong," Yatari agreed, "insofar as the theft being an unfortunate slight against the duchy's defenses.  However, these sorts of molds are extraordinarily valuable--the Duke's men will almost certainly be in pursuit.  Leaving now will be in our best interests.  The longer we wait, the more interruptions may prevent us from tracking them.  Not that I doubt the capacities of our stalwart almost-friends--" she shot an amused look over at Lani, "but because nature has a way of erasing the past.  If Myre and Sakr wouldn't mind taking the lead in this fabulous pursuit?"

Sakr nods and turns to lead the party back the way they came.

The party retraces their steps back to where they saw Bruiser and the others leave the main road. There, they easily find the trail of six horses heading into the hills, following it to a wide (15') cave mouth in the side of a hill. There does not appear to be anyone guarding the entrance.

"Well, they seem to be making no effort to hide." Myre notes as she stands at the front of the cave.

Davor moves to stand by Myre and make a perhaps more imposing figure framed in the entrance. "All that means is that they aren't really afraid of being followed. I call it an invitation." He grins and the light in his eyes dances. He looks around at his companions with a look that says he's about to do something dangerous.

[Language unknown: "Caadni."] The hollow eye sockets of the wolf skull on his shoulder glow briefly as he speaks the guttural word and he turns back to face to entrance of cave. "Holloway, your doom has arrived! The spirits of your ancestors are calling for you to join them. Hide in this hole if you will. Death is here for you!" The half-orc's voice is amplified many times and echoes off the stone walls of the cave.

Davor casts Thaumaturgy to make his voice louder.

Lani hisses softly through her teeth, and unsheathed her short swords with a twirling flourish.

"Oh, that's alright, she said mostly to herself, but still out loud for the group to hear. "I didn't want the element of surprise, anyway. Not like these people just robbed the ducal treasury and might be rather dangerous." The elf cast a sidelong, disapproving glance at Davor. Her instinct would normally be to get out of sight, but the possibility of danger coming out of the cave and friends who weren't great with someone stabbing them stayed her feet.

Using her own magic to ensure her appearance was immaculate--a tiefling must have her priorities straight!--Yatari assumed the stance of the spellcaster... which was, of course, one hand on her hip, the other extended before her.  "And let's not forget, he's wanted alive.  I don't believe the poster said anything about his compatriots... but perhaps best not to slay anyone until we can confirm which is Holloway.  Although Lani--he robbed the ducal mint, no?"

Lani shrugged to her lovely, towering tiefling comrade, palms up with swords carefully balanced. "I don't know much about minting. I thought the two might be the same building. I'd like to know more about all that later, though."

The elf got back into her ready position, and twirled her swords again for effect.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:28, Tue 18 May 2021.

Davor scoffs as he pulls his scythe from his back, but otherwise makes no move away from the entrance to the cave. When he speaks again, his voice has returned to normal, he even speaks softly so that his words don't carry into the cave. "Bah. Surprise is overrated. He knows someone will be after him sooner or later. Chances are this cave is his gang's hideout which means they know it well and we don't know it at all. If we go in there after him, the only people who will be surprised is us. On the other hand, if he comes out here after that, at least we'll know that he's an idiot."

He thinks for a minute before adding: "In fact, if anyone is halfway decent at hiding, now is a prime opportunity to get behind some cover. He doesn't know how many we are. We can have a little bit of surprise that way." He looks at Lani and shrugs, which might be an attempt an apology, or not.

Sakr draws his bow and nocks an arrow when the party approaches the cave. He winces when Davor calls out to Bruiser and whoever else is inside, but relaxes a bit when the half-orc explains his thinking.

He slips to one side of the cave entrance, attempting to conceal himself from view, and waits.

11:31, Today: Sakr rolled 17 using 1d20+5.  Stealth.

As they retraced their steps, Goon stayed near the middle of the group. With none of the practiced stalking ease but all of the indiscretion that came with being more than halfway to 7ft tall, Goon served more as a guidepoint than a high set of eyes. Nonetheless, they made it to their destination. He couldn't have been anymore excited. Granted, he wasn't very excited.

"Louder is the last 'ing we need," Goon grumbled at Davor's challenge, but their was no anger left to be stoked. It actually made it easier on him ,as he wasn't known to be a subtle figure anywhere he was. In fact, he was supposed to be seen as a part of the scenery around him. Even if that worked out for him, Yatari, guaranteed it was a futile idea.

With challenges issued and weapons blossomed to hand, Goon grunted as he moved to the side of the entry, not quite using it for cover. He pulled out a shortsword in one hand, a handaxe in the other. No flourish, no tight grip. His long arms held the blades low, he build hunched over like a butcher over a counter. They spoke of bringing him back alive. They never did say in how many pieces.

Goon's gaze tried to peel away the cavern's obscurity, delving deep for the dangers lurking in the abyss.

Darkvision 60ft; Perception 17

Myre reached up and slung her shield off her back, slipping it over an arm.

She then did take Davor's advice regarding cover, stepping back behind the lip of the cave she peered in. She wasn't able to make much out, not being able to see in the dark, but if the thieves had entered then they may have some light deeper in the cave.

When Davor bellows out his warning, the party hears a commotion inside the cave, followed by the exodus of hundreds of bats from the cave mouth.

"Well, at least we know the cave will smell terrible," Yatari snarked, glowering at her similarly-winged lesser cousins.  Sometimes, bats were very cute.  All times, they were smelly.  Or at least, their caves tended to be.  "There's a chance these caves have other exits--given the horses aren't tethered outside."  To her limited knowledge, horses didn't like caves.  Part of why mules ended up being used in mines so often.

Davor still waits in the cave mouth without so much as ducking as the bats rush past him, but he turns to look at Yatari and taps his head before before pointing at her as if to say 'good thinking'. "That's a good point. Best watch out for someone trying to sneak up behind us then."

After a moment, if there are no further developments within the cave, Davor will shrug. "Maybe they have half a brain between them. If our quarry won't come out, then we'll have to go in after him. I'll lead the way, since I tipped them off that we're here. Unless there's a different plan..."

Davor steps into the cave, which is about 60' wide, 50' deep, and 50' high. Six thoroughly spooked horses are tied up next to a dusty pile of oats just inside the cave mouth. A torch and a tinderbox lie on the ground next to the entrance. Davor spots a five-foot-wide tunnel leading out of the back of the cave.

Davor relays what he sees back to the others. "I found the horses. They, at least, are scared of me." He takes a few steps further into the cave, checking for any hidden danger and keeping one eye on the tunnel leading out the back.

Yatari moved in a few feet behind Davor.  She didn't mind having someone in front of her--having someone to bodyblock anyone attempting to stain her clothing with their blood at least saved her a few minutes of concentration as she erased the unfortunate crimson from her bodice.  Beyond that, it also stopped her from getting attacked with weapons.  Other people could carry scars so much more effectively than she could!

Stooping down a little to make sure her horns didn't scrape the top of the cave, Yatari suppressed a laugh at Davor's observation.  "You probably deafened the poor things.  Magically amplified voice, inside of a very echo-producing cave... anyone would be frightened!"

Her hand remained raised, ready to zap ne'er-do-'ells with the power of Kraznor the Gemgouger, Noble Dao of the Elemental Plane of Earth.

Sakr waits for the others to enter the cave, then slips in behind them, guarding the rear.

Myre peered in then took a step behind Davor. "If we're going in it's very dark. I can't see well so let hope there's some light deeper inside."

Goon slunk into the room with blood on his mind. He kept to the edge of the group, laterally aligned with Myre as he tried to cling to the cavern walls. The horses were not lost on him, tied and docile enough to suggest that this wasn't there first visit. Could be there last, though.

It was obvious that an individual of Goon's stature would be unaccustomed to walking in shadows, but he tried the dance, lurching more than lurking, prowling more than pacing his steps with the silence between sounds. He would stick along the walls,  circumventing the edge of the cavern as the group trudged forward.

11 stealth

Lani crept in at the periphery opposite Goon, skirting the edge of their group and the cave. She was a little edgy, not staying quite as still or moving quite as fluidly as she meant to, but her natural agility was (or rather, wasn't) on full display.

Between the natural darkvision she shared with much of the group -- she hoped Myre and Sakr would be okay -- and a practiced ear, the Antic also did her best to scout while they moved in.

If she had any talent for animals, she'd have tried to calm the horses. Alas, poor ponies. Lani hoped one of her nature-minded friends would help them when there was less pressure.

Stealth 18
Perception 14

Davor has been relying on his natural darkvision to make out details in the cave. When Myre reminds him that she can't see, he pauses. "Right. I could light a torch, but that would give away our position. The men we're hunting looked human too so they will be at the same disadvantage. Keep a hand on my shoulder for now." He waits for Myre to be ready, and then heads into the passage at the back of the cave.

Davor enters the narrow passageway at the back of the cave. About 10 feet in, he breaks a slim tripwire; a polearm swings down from the ceiling, narrowly missing the half-orc.

Ahead of him, a steep set of stairs leads to a flooded section of the tunnel.

Davor stops short and feels the whoosh of air as the weapon flies less than a finger's width in front of his face. [Language unknown: "Comforhatdercom."] He utters what is almost certainly an expletive after the near miss. "You see? This is their territory and they're ready for intruders. We should be on the lookout for any more surprises."

He notices the water in front of them. For the benefit of those who cannot see, he describes the obstacle. "The tunnel is flooded ahead. That may explain why they didn't respond to my taunting: they couldn't hear it. It looks like we're going to need to swim in order to move forward. Does everyone know how?"

Myre poked at the polearm as she passed it, she was glad for Davor's hefty frame in front of her. A trap like that would have sliced her in two, especially since she could see pretty much nothing the deeper they got through the cave. She nodded in the dark as Davor warned everyone to be careful. She kept her staff hand on Davor's back and held her shield beside her as she travelled, carefully placing her feet in the dark

As they stopped and Davor explained the stairs Myre frowned. "Oh," She sounded disappointed, "Water, and we have to swim." She shuddered in the darkness.

"I can swim, though I would prefer other options." Swimming in the dark sounded positively terrifying.

Davor tests the depth of the water in the tunnel. It seems to be only a couple of feet deep.

"'Ey."

Goon whisper-barked, coming upon the water alongside Davor, crouching down to dunk a long arm in. Their Deathstributor almost caught a spit to the face. They must have not tried to break into enough noble homes at night, though those richly paid traps tended to be more...fun.

 His Orcish was considerably less refined than his divine accomplice. He stirred his arm in the water for a bit, coming to a decision with a grunt. "I'll take point." He sheathed his shortsword for a dagger in his teeth as he crouched into the water.

Goon's axe hand stayed raised, poised for balance and battle, as his freed hand swept slowly through the water in front of him. It was a strange duckwalk, but supposedly effective for checking for traps. That's what that thief had explained moments after they were chucked out the door of Goon's employer. Now was a time to see if it worked.

Stealth 13
Perception 23
This message was last edited by the player at 16:31, Mon 24 May 2021.

Yatari didn't mind people being in front of her, so she made room for the rest.  Concerns about not giving away their position seemed a little... what was the saying?  Closing the barn after the horses had been transmogrified into a manticore?  Either way, Yatari remained with her hands at the ready, prepared to sassily slap someone with eldritch power.

13:43, Today: Yatari rolled 11 using 1d20+2.  Stealth.

13:43, Today: Yatari rolled 20 using 1d20.  Perception.

Goon takes the lead as the party enters the partially submerged tunnel. After a few steps forward while sweeping his hand through the brackish water, Goon locates a steel bear trap on the ground.

"Some choice party favors."

Goon ran thick fingers over misshapen teeth, and the rounded way those teeth traveled told of a trap beneath the water. He raised his hand behind him, in the universal sign of "halt". Goon made a soft sound that could only be assumed a chuckle as he slid his dagger out his mouth and into the center of the trap to set it off. Hopefully the water would muffle its sound.

He would wordlessly pull the trap out of the water; its steel jaw hung on his blade like a hooked piranha. With a quick knot at his belt, he secured it, then stiffly waved his companions to resume their forward motion. Still he continued his sweep, and anyone observant enough may have noticed this time he went just a touch slower.

When Goon takes the lead, Davor falls back into the center of the group. He continues to allow Myre to put a hand on his shoulder as they travel through the water. He raises an eyebrow when the water turns out to only be a few feet deep, but follows into the water after the other half-orc. He waits patiently while the trap is disarmed and makes a silent prayer to his ancestors that he was no longer in the lead.

Lani fell back a bit before entering the water. She flashed Yatari an excited smile and an awkward, sword-wielding thumbs-up, though, dropping back even past her to where Sakr brought up the rear.

"Do you want to hold on to my belt?" She whispered to him in the dark.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:17, Wed 26 May 2021.

Sakr, now wielding a shortsword rather than a bow, nods at Lani. "That's probably a good idea. My eyes aren't suited to the dark." He takes hold of her belt and wades through the water slowly behind her.

Myre placed her hand on Davor's back again. "Well, that's good I don't have to swim." she says quietly. She wasn't comfortable leaving her belongings behind in this cave, what if more men came?

"Oh, I wish I could see." She whispers, mostly to herself. "This was not a problem I thought about when I left home."

After advancing about another ten feet, Goon finds another steel bear trap in the water. A further ten feet beyond that trap is another bear trap; this one has been set off, though. Goon finds two more armed bear traps in the last half of the partially submerged tunnel, which eventually begins to slope upward. After exiting the water, the tunnel turns to the right and then opens into a 20-foot-by-30-foot cave with five tunnels leading outside to the east. The floor of the cave is covered with an inch of coarse sand.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:00, Sat 29 May 2021.

It seemed the hosts of their abyss knew there was some worth to be had in preparing these mouthy welcome mats. As Goon set the last one off and tied it to his pack strap, his mouth curved into worry. With one of the traps set off, did it mean one of their quarry made a bad off-step? He made sure to check that particular trap's teeth for flesh scraps; blood didn't tend to stick underwater.

He came up slow out the water, like a croc to lakeshore, and step just inside the cave to allow his company a gander into the expanse. It must have been the living quarters.

"Which one?"

Goon grunted this to himself as much as he did to anyone else. He exchanged the dagger in his mouth for a sword in hand.

Davor considers each of the tunnels, but there doesn't appear to be much to distinguish them. He also notes the distinct lack of gear or other signs that people have been living in the room. "It looks like we still haven't found where they camp. We should try the tunnels one at a time. No sense in splitting up." The half-orc is too focused on the tunnels to do more than glance at the sand for signs of passage.

Davor rolled 9 using 1d20+4.  Survival to check the sand.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:48, Sun 30 May 2021.

Goon uses his axe to scratch at his ass as he gives each tunnel a glare. He used what he could of the faint light to filter the sand for footprints.

Rolled 16 for Survival

Sakr moves forward to help the others check the sand for tracks.

It appears that someone tried to conceal the tracks of those who came before the party. However, Goon and Sakr find enough traces of footprints to determine that Bruiser and his men took the fourth tunnel (from the north).

Yatari, priss that she was, flew above the water instead of trudging through it.  Once they determined which tunnel the men had gone through, she alighted near the sand--she had kept back in case her wings accidentally disturbed anything!

More concerned by the water and suddenly taking a dive in the near total darkness Myre followed the others as they investigated the multiple tunnels. She was happy to see daylight and mentioned as much, "Going to have to do something about that. I can't be wandering around in the dark." She frowned back at the water, "What if I did have to swim!"

But the moment passed and as Yatari's feet hit the sand and Myre realised she had flown over she sighed audibly. "Maybe I can just work out how to fly instead..."

She followed the others along the fourth tunnel.

Davor follows Goon and Sakr to the entrance of the fourth tunnel. "Better be ready. I've got a feeling we're getting close."

A quick motion and a murmured word, and Yatari's clothing was cleaning itself again.  "Perhaps this time we won't indulge in thaumaturgy?" she joked, her voice low.  But her hand raised again, and she ran her thumb along the underside of her unusual ring.  The strange heat that radiated from it felt calming, soothing.  A reminder of past deals and future opportunities.

Sakr nods at Davor, then motions for Goon to take the lead again. He waits for everyone else to enter the tunnel, then resumes his spot in the rear. Thanks to the natural light, he no longer needs to hold on to Lani's belt as they proceed.

The end of the 15-foot-long tunnel opens about 50 feet above a rushing river about 60 to 70 feet wide. A small wooden building with no windows is situated on the opposite side of the river. To the south of the building stand five bandits, bows ready. They do not immediately see the party; their attention appears to be focused to the south of the tunnel the party took.

"Psst..." Sakr motions toward a curtain designed to look like the stone about halfway down the tunnel. He pulls it back to reveal a side tunnel leading south. "I suspect this is the way to go."

Davor nods and heads down the other passage with his scythe at the ready. He waits for Goon if the other half-orc wants to take the lead again.

"Perhaps this time we won't indulge in thaumaturgy?"

Goon snunted (snicker + grunt) at Yatari's comment. Yes, certainly no need to indulge the gods with pleas of help. Yet.

The bouncer pauses for a moment, analyzing Davor's invitation. He glanced down the tunnel, then to Davor's armored, scythed frame.
Did he really want to go first?
Tunnel.
But what if their were more steel fish?
Davor.

"Yeah..."

Goon leads the way, warily. Slow and steady.

As he passed Sakr, he said "Bene, buddy. No use playing catch with arrows yet." If Sakr didn't shy away, Goon would offer a surprisingly gentle pat on the back before slipping beyond the curtain.

Myre was attentive to her surroundings at the best of times and being outdoors and in natural environments she was familiar with caused her eyes to draw to an odd formation of stone. Sakr was the first to investigate and as the others entered Myre held her staff to her chest.

[Language unknown: "Notvenntestrcom"] she muttered and the mushrooms on the end of the staff turned to stone.

She resumed walking behind Davor, the natural light fading behind her she looked ahead for any light in the new tunnel.

Casting Shillelagh

The concealed side tunnel winds southward for about 70 feet before opening to a narrow shelf of rock that forms a ledge overlooking the river. Bolted securely into the rock five feet above the ledge is a large metal pulley and cable assembly. The taut cable stretches across the river at a downward angle of about 25 degrees to a second pulley 15 feet above the ground. Fastened to the cable every 10 feet or so is a metal handle.

The five bandits are looking toward the ledge and will definitely see anyone who emerges from the tunnel as soon as he or she steps into the light.

Davor eyes the strange contraption dubiously. "That's the only real way across the river quickly. We need something to draw their fire."

Myre eyed the crossing sceptically, "Why don't we just wait for them to come back out? Or wait for night?" She peeked around a corner to get another look, "There are five bandits with bows, all of them looking toward this entrance. Who know's how many more inside?"

She shook her head, "We should not go charging into this. Even if our man does not come back out perhaps others will, we could divide the threat and maybe interrogate one."

She wasn't some martial mastermind, it was common sense. There were six in their group and they knew of at least six across the river, likely many more. Set up with bows to cover a 70ft crossing of handholds over a river 50ft below. Nobody was getting over there while they were alert and on guard.

"I can head back to the other cave entrance and fly out," Yatari offered quietly.  "They may have difficulty shooting at me, but no matter what, they'll certainly have their attention grabbed.  Then you can approach unimpeded.  A gang of five would not steal from the ducal mint--they may be waiting for reinforcements.  Taking them down now ensures we don't allow the bounty to slip through our fingers."

Many years ago, when Goon accepted his first job as a "greeter" for the dwarven dive bar back home, he knew he would there were certain skills one should expect to have on hand. Looking tough, acting tough, a sense of discernment. He never mastered any of them yet, but there was one unexpected trait he developed that he was always grateful for. It was the ability to listen, very carefully, when others spoke.

Goon listened first to Davor, noticing the curious rise in pitch when their eyes met the pulley. He could hear the caution in Myre's voice as she made it known that they still had time for alternatives. Yatari's words, though quieter, were assertive. They all had   ideas, and it was refreshing, even knew) for him to hear vocalized logic as opposed to pontificating patricians.

Goon sighed, the shifting of his chest causing his arm to bumping into one of the four steel prizes strapped to his belt. The sensation brought an approving scowl to his face. "Non fun lampin' f'tumbs," he mutters, rubbing a bear trap tooth with his thumb. "T'bezness fin'a mark we'um ress-rectin mon." Goon himself was no strategist; he was more inclined to neutralize threats as soon as he saw them. Seemed like he was already learning the trade of an adventurer.

"Doubt there's more." He paused, a little too long, perhaps more shy than he lets on. It was all, after all, very new to him. "Six horses. Five of 'em pads down there wit'm tots ready'a off." Goon cleared his throat, settling down on his heels as he scratched in the dirt. Not that he could draw anything well, but it helped him think.

"But waitin'...sharp thinkin', Myre." Goon almost edged into pronouncing the druid's name as "Mya" again. He got the hang of it, if only barely. "Wait for 'em to bed down, then roll 'em over. Maybe till stick to the plan, split forces, confuse the lookie." Because there most CERTAINLY would be a lookout.

"Problem t'oh," Goon definitely was talking out loud more than to anyone else, "In 'at house, 'ey got the cover. 'Ey got the one over us. Ain't see no way to sneak over. Either way...gonna need'a take 'em two ways..."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:46, Thu 03 June 2021.

Since the straight forward charge seems unpopular, Davor offers another alternative though the half-orc does look a little disappointed. "We could always go back out the way we came in, find this river, and cross it out of sight. Come at them from behind."

Sakr readies his bow while listening to the others discuss their plans. Eventually, he chimes in, saying, "If we want to get the bounty, we shouldn't wait around too long. There are only six of them. If we hit them hard and fast and from different directions, we should easily overwhelm them."

Myre raises her eyebrows, "We've only seen six of them. And I don't know why we can' wait around too long, it doesn't look like they're going anywhere. But I'm not going to stop anyone that wants to charge in."

How many different directions could they come from? There was one zipline... Apart from Yatari the rest of them would have to use that, unless another member of the group had abilities she was not aware of.

Davor looks around those assembled. "I say we go. If anyone intends to take advantage of the distraction to cross behind them, you had better get going." He looks deliberately at Yatari and then strides towards the strange contraption that ostensibly will carry him across the river.

Yatari nodded and headed back down.  She cast hex on one of the men, and then flew out of cave mouth to shoot an eldritch blast at the unfortunate man.

Using my 1 spell per short rest on Hex, targeting one of the men.  I will then attempt to hit him.  I am also going to fly 25 feet into the air, hopefully as far hypothenuse-wise as possible.  If I can have 90 feet between me and the bandits, that would be great, but I don't know if that's feasible.

Bonus action: Hex (Disadvantage: Wisdom Checks)
Action: Eldritch Blast 23:26, Today: Yatari rolled 11 using 1d20+5.  Attack Roll.

I feel confident that does not hit, but if it does...

23:27, Today: Yatari rolled 16 using 1d10+2+1d6.  Unlikely Damage.

As Yatari and Davor move out of the tunnels to begin the assault, Sakr follows with his bow ready. He immediately takes aim at one of the archers and fires an arrow across the river from the ledge.

Attack one of the archers. Hits AC 25 for 18 piercing damage.

14:59, Today: Sakr rolled 18 using 2d8+5.  Damage (critical).
14:59, Today: Sakr rolled 25 using 1d20+5.  Attack.

Goon spit into his hands, rubbing them together as he got into position to grab a handle after Dakor. He made sure to slip his dagger back between his teeth. He was excited, he was nervous. Nobody ever had plans to die when they did. Well...maybe some did, but certainly not Goon.

Just gotta take 'em alive, he thinks. With a nod to his fellow line persons, he mutters aloud, "Ge'm suma bezness, gone get."

When Goon's sliding down the line, he chucks the dagger from between his teeth with one hand (at the closest available bandit) when he's just about to land. Don't know what adjustments would need to be made, so giving you the whole kit'n kaboodle unless you wanted to roll over my rolls from my last attempt.

Init = 6
07:10, Today: Goon rolled 23 using 1d20+5.  Thrown Dagger from the Zipliine
07:13, Today: Goon rolled 7 using 1d4+5.  Thrown dagger Zipline Damage.

As Goon takes the plunge Myre recasts her spell on her staff and waits beside Davor. "Well he made it look easy."

Move to zipline.
Cast Shillelagh.

Yatari flies out of the tunnel, hexing one of the archers and attempting to hit him with an eldritch blast; he notices her at the last second and ducks out of the way of the attack. Sakr emerges from the other tunnel and fires an arrow directly into the neck of one of the archers, taking him out. Two of the remaining archers fire at Sakr; one of them nicks him in the arm. The other two fire at Yatari but have a hard time taking aim at the flying tiefling. Davor moves along the ledge, takes hold of one of the handles on the cable and pulley assembly, and zips across the river to the other side. Goon follows right after him and throws a dagger into the chest of one of the archers as he zips down the cable.

Next round. Davor and Goon are on the other side and will be able to engage in melee this round.

Bandit 1: uninjured (hex)
Bandit 2: dying
Bandit 3: uninjured
Bandit 4: uninjured
Bandit 5: injured (-7 hp)

Davor lets out a deep, mad cackle as he whips his scythe off his back and charges into melee with the archers. The weapon whirls over his head in a graceful arc and comes away red with one of the bandits blood. The half-orc is heedless of danger as he wades into the midst of the bandits so that they are all in range of his deadly weapon.

Move: I want as many of these bandits in my 10' reach as possible.
Action: Attack his one of the bandits AC 18 for 7 damage.

Davor rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  Attack w/scythe.
Davor rolled 7 using 1d10+3.  Scythe damage.

Confident they are now distracted Myre takes the zipline down across the river. Donning her shield she waits for an opportunity to engage or assist.

Sakr takes aim at a different archer and lets another arrow fly.

Attack hits AC 15 for 13 piercing damage.

20:01, Today: Sakr rolled 13 using 1d8+5.  Damage.
20:00, Today: Sakr rolled 15 using 1d20+5.  Attack.

Well, wasn't that fun?

Goon it the group hard as the zipline terminated. He rolled into the landing and back on his feet, bringing him back to height and somewhat disorienting him. Barroom brawls didn't often have room to tumble, and Goon's height required more space than most. Davor's mad cackle helped recenter him as he dashed in towards Davor. From some bandit's perspective, it would seem as though he was charging his partner's back.

At the last possible second, Goon juked around the scythe blade, coming straight around and behind an unknowing bandit bastard. There was no grin, no joy, no witty quip; Goon's mien had the intense clarity that came with "cleanup duty." He made to plunge at his target's ribs with a keen blade.

Is Goon able to flank a bandit that is adjacent to Davor's reach/space? It will determine my rolls. For now, since this is theater of the mind, I will presume yes, and preferably the one already punctured by the thrown dagger.

07:20, Today: Goon rolled 8 using 1d4+5.  Dagger Damage.
16:36, Today: Goon rolled 6 using 1d6.  Extra if Sneak Attack Applies.
07:20, Today: Goon rolled 23 using 1d20+5.  Attack Roll (Rolling with Advantage for flanking).
07:20, Today: Goon rolled 8 using 1d20+5.  Attack Roll (Rolling with Advantage for flanking).
This message was last edited by the player at 21:36, Sun 13 June 2021.

The bite of the arrow definitely wasn't pleasant, but Yatari retorted with a quick motion of her hand.  The ring flared as another eldritch beam flew down towards the man she'd hexed, doing her best to be the distraction the others needed in order to get down the zipline in an efficacious manner.

16:07, Today: Yatari rolled 14 using 1d20+5.  Attack Roll.
16:07, Today: Yatari rolled 9 using 1d10+2+1d6.  Potential damage.
16:07, Today: Yatari rolled 11 using 1d20+2.  Initiative.

Yatari blasts her target, leaving him barely standing. He fires another arrow at her, this time hitting her. Sakr takes down another of the bandits from his position on the cliff ledge. Myre emerges from the tunnel and follows Davor and Goon across the river via the zipline; Lani crosses right behind her. Davor moves in and cuts one of the bandits with his scythe. Goon rushes up behind Davor and stabs the bandit he had previously injured, dropping him.

Next round. Myre and Lani are now across the river, too.

Bandit 1: badly injured (-2 hp; hex)
Bandit 2: dying
Bandit 3: dying
Bandit 4 (Davor): injured (-7 hp)
Bandit 5: dying

For all his seemingly reckless abandon, Davor fights surprisingly shrewdly. He steps amongst the fallen bodies of the bandits, giving Goon a better angle on one of the bandits as he swings his scythe in a devastating arc at the other. The blade finds purchase in the man and blood clings to the blade as Davor finishes the swing.

Move: Repositioning to give Goon advantage again if necessary.
Action: Attack against Bandit 4 hits AC 19 for 13 damage.

Davor rolled 19 using 1d20+5.  Attack w/scythe.
Davor rolled 13 using 1d10+3.  Scythe damage.

Sakr takes aim at the bandit who had hit Yatari and fires an arrow at him.

Attack Bandit 1 (or 4). Hits AC 18 for 6 piercing damage.

12:46, Today: Sakr rolled 6 using 1d8+5.  Damage.
12:46, Today: Sakr rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  Attack.

In the span of time Goon had between sticking the bandit and kicking them aside, his brow furrowed at an intruding thought. Just how many did they need to keep alive?

Goon took no pleasure in the bloodshed; he lived by the idea of putting down before getting put down. He already knew that these gentlemen would be the last likely to show them a gentle hand. Fortunately, none of them seemed to appear to look like the tattooed, mustachioed rider they had seen from earlier. Maybe they should keep one of them at least conscious...

If Davor and Sakr haven't killed the remaining bandits (which I suspect they would), Goon would try to grapple one of them. Of course he rolls a 20 now.

Oh, mother of pearl, that was agony.

Yatari cried out as an arrow went into her body.  Gasping, she opted not to pull the arrow from herself, instead slowly returning to the ground while her compatriots expertly dispatched the last of the bandits.  "Needed-- alive--!" she reminded them, through clenched teeth, but honestly?  She was more concerned about the arrow that was inside of her body.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she alighted upon the earth once more.  Who in all of the hells knew that getting shot hurt?  What a treacherous existence this was!

Moving into melee with the nearest bandit while avoiding complicating her companions attacks Myre strikes at the nearest one.


11:39, Today: Myre rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  melee attack.
11:39, Today: Myre rolled 4 using 1d8+3.  damage.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:40, Wed 16 June 2021.

As Yatari descends to the other side of the river, Myre moves into the melee, striking down one of the remaining bandits. Sakr fires an arrow into the last bandit, taking him out and ending the fight.

End combat.

Well there goes the neighborhood.

Goon hadn't expected their mushroomed mate to join in so late to the party. At least they had a chance to join in on the fun.

He finds the closest one, whichever one of them were still moaning, still breathing. He reaches down to pull them halfway off the ground by their collar. He leaned in close enough to nearly kiss noses with the man.

"Keena grip ym fronta?" Goon sheathed his dagger. The hand hovered over an axe before instead grabbing a steel trap. It was still wet, still stank of stale cave water. "Benet t'gumbust m'quiras."
The only thing evident in Goon's face and tone was the promise of a bad time if things didn't go his way.

"Where's Bruiser? In 'at box?" Goon jerked his head to the windowless building. "Got some other hired help waiting for us?"

Intimidate = 16

Davor moves over to where Goon is attempting to interrogate one of the dying bandits. He places his hand on the man's head and speaks a word.  There is a flash of green light beneath Davor's that passes into the bandit before dissipating.

Cast Spare the Dying.

Looking around at the other bandits, Davor debates what to do with them. Ultimately he decides that more than one prisoner will spell trouble so he makes no move to cast the same spell on the others.

The large half-orc points towards the shack with his scythe. "We ought to be on guard for more of them."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:45, Mon 21 June 2021.

When the last bandit falls, Sakr scans the bank of the river from the ledge for any further threats, then proceeds to cross the river via the cable-and-pulley contraption. Once on the other side, he sets to retrieving his arrows.

As Davor indicated to the shack Myre kept an eye on the building, she wasn't overly interesting in looting corpses or whatever other gruesome business was to follow. Her attentions were better spent elsewhere.

"Agh..."  Yatari gingerly pushed the arrow through herself and tossed it aside, putting a hand to her clothing and cleaning the blood away.  "This is... supremely uncomfortable," she concluded with a nod.  "Obviously they knew they'd be followed, so we can expect additional resistance.  Let's continue on."

"Oh."

Davor's touch brought the man back from the brink, the brink Goon hadn't known they were on. Oops.

"Well. Uh..."

Well, that takes the powder out my keg. He frowns, disappointed. Sometimes you just couldn't capture performances like his twice. With a sigh, he halfheartedly brings the steel trap back into the man's view.

"Tell us where Bruiser is or 'is'll be a new shoe for you." Goon was obviously a little dejected.

Rolled Intimidate 13.

"I suspect he's in the building," Sakr says to Goon. He nocks an arrow and begins to move toward the structure, looking for a door.

"Yeah...guess so..."

Goon drops the man unceremoniously. They hit the ground so hard it almost seemed like Goon tossed him. With a prowling gait Goon joins his companions' walk to the shelter with axe in hand.

Weakened but able to maintain her concentration, Yatari kept towards the back.  One more arrow like that, and she was done for!

Still, she raised her black-blood-covered hand and was prepared to cast her spells as necessary.  Being tall, winged, and horned wasn't exactly great for keeping her low profile, but when had Yatari ever shirked from the spotlight?

The structure is a small (15' x 15') wooden building with no windows and a single wooden door located on the north side.

Making sure that the lone living bandit is safe in Goon's care, Davor moves towards the door of the cabin. He approaches, but waits for the others to be ready.

Goon approaches the door.

"Knock, knock," he whispers as he doesn't. Instead he tries to quietly check around the door. Doors were always the worst, with their wide girths and obscuring nature. Traps were like a built-in feature with these things.

Rolled a 7 Perception.

"Don't see nothing."

He looks to Davor.

Davor blinks at Goon until it occurs to him what Goon is asking him. Looking carefully at the door, Davor tries to discern if there are any surprises waiting for them.

Davor rolled 17 using 1d20+2.  Perception.

There do not seem to be any traps on the door, which doesn't even appear to be locked.

Confident that there's nothing dangerous, Davor attempts to push the door open.

Davor pulls open the unlocked door to the building. Inside are a table, twelve chairs, shelves stacked with rations, and twelve pallets with blankets. Bruiser is lying on one of the pallets, bandages on his face, chest, arms, and one foot. He glances up at the door when it opens. "Ah, hell..." he sighs, making no attempt to even sit up.

"Hello, Bruiser," Yatari greeted cheerfully, her hand returning to her egregious arrow wound.  "Your compatriots did put up a valiant effort to prevent us from meeting you.  Unfortunately, they were sufficiently inhospitable.  Do you have a moment to speak?"

"Who in the Nine Hells are you?" Bruiser grumbles. He sits up slightly, grimacing in pain, in an attempt to see out the door. "You bested my men, huh? Well, I s'pose I don't have much choice but to talk to ya. Whadda ya want?"

Goon slinks through the door, dipping his head down to miss the doorframe. It was never any fun when he bashed his head. He does a quick count around the room. Twelve beds, twelve pallets. Five men were downed. Bruiser was still present.

"Where's a'rest of your friends, Bruiser?" Goon's low voice didn't hold any painful guarantees. Yet.

Davor decides to stay outside rather than further crowd the tiny shack. It would take a fair amount of work for him to navigate the door with his scythe anyway. He is content with casting an imposing shadow from the doorway instead. To add a little ambiance though.

[Language unknown: "Com!"] The eyes of the wolf skull on his shoulder glow green again and then the light transfers to Davor's own eyes.

Casting Thaumaturgy to make my eyes glow.

"Looks like ya done slew 'em," Bruiser sighs. "You gonna do the same to me?"

"No.  Do you still have the plates you purloined from the mint?"  Yatari was all smiles--well, half smile, half horns.  Regardless.  "And I take it these are the wounds you suffered in the process of stealing the casts?"

Goon would stew, quietly, as Yatari asked her question. It was a good one, but Goon was certainly fixated on the room. All the beds. All the bandits. Once Bruiser gave his answer, Goon would chime in.

"'Ere's twelve beds here, buddy."

Goon began crossing the room with long steps. Only took a few. "We only took six of 'em bwois out 'ere. Where's t'rest of 'em?" Goon stopped just outside the man's reach, a dagger and axe materializing in his hands.

"One way or anuhda, ym fittin'um printz f'em chappas, gone get.." There seemed to be a pattern to it, how Goon slipped into that gutter-gullah when he got...excited. "S'pposed to bring you in breathin'. Said nothin' 'bout how much of you it had to be. Been tellin' myself that the whole way here."

His axe spun wildly, in a practiced flick over his wrist. "So I'm ready to lop off some of your chunks for m'bene yella tin. So WHERE!"


I got ninja'd, so I'm adjusting the post to compensate for my slowassedness.
09:22, Today: Goon rolled 14 using 1d20.  Medicine to try to understand Bruiser's state of injury.
09:22, Today: Goon rolled 10 using 1d20+4.  Perception to analyze Bruiser.
09:16, Today: Goon rolled 12 using 1d20+1.  Initimidate

Sakr stands guard outside the small building while Goon and Yatari question Bruiser, keeping an eye out for any of Bruiser's men who might be lurking nearby.

As soon as Goon gets within reach of Bruiser, the injured bandit lunges from his spot and stabs him in the side with a dagger that the half-orc had failed to notice. "You're not gettin' me that easy!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:56, Sun 04 July 2021.

As the Dagger plunged into his ribs, scraping against the bones of his ribs, Goon made a sound much like a bark. It was odd that it wasn't a sound loud enough to compensate for the pain he felt, but it was one of pain nonetheless. Had it not been him suffering the rogues blow, he would have appreciated the rakish maneuver; it took guts to go out like that.

"Still not done with this game, uh?" His voice was strained, but his grin full of violence. Instinctively, Goon wanted to plunge his blades through Bruiser's brains. Against his superior instincts, he instead dropped his dagger and latched on to their neck, squeezing, lifting, bringing his fingers taut beneath their chin. His axe hung weakly in his other hand, his strength focused solely on holding Bruiser in place as he tried to slowly lift them off the ground.

"Some help would be dandy," Goon said.

15:23, Today: Goon rolled 27 using 1d20+7 ((20)). Good grappling action!

"We have gotten you that easily," Yatari confirmed with a nod.  "Come now, Bruiser.  Surely you don't see the profit in continuing this charade.  Must we knock you out?  I would much prefer not exacerbating the pain you're already in."

19:18, Today: Yatari rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  Persuasion Check.

Goon appears to have the situation well in hand, so Davor declines to enter the shack and complicate the situation. Yatari is also making her case convincingly, so the big orc just stands menacingly behind her to emphasize the point with his green glowing eyes.

Bruiser winces in pain when Goon grabs him. He struggles a moment, then taking in Yatari's words as he looks around, drops his dagger and relaxes his muscles. "Fine... Ya got me," he sighs. "Seein' as how you don't seem keen to kill me, what are you gonna do with me?"

"Seein' as how you don't seem keen to kill me, what are you gonna do with me?"

Goon grinned.

"First, we're gonna do 'is."

The bouncer lifted the man up an inch higher, then slammed them into the floor.

"Make sure 'n give you some bruises to earn that name," he said into Bruiser's ear as he put his weight on top of him. "'Ere's a rope on my pack. One of you grab it and help me tie him up!" Goon barked the last request. He was still in pain and angry at the cheap jab, but it wasn't his first housecall getting poked. Certainly not his last quite yet

Athletics check 18 to shove; knock Bruiser prone.

Davor pulls out a rope from his own pack and moves over to help Goon tie Bruiser up. "You look a little worse for wear Bruiser. Maybe this is fate catching up with you."

"Yes, yes, karmatic retribution and all that."  She failed to mention the fact she'd been nearly killed by an arrow to her insides.  "Where did you put the mint plates, Bruiser?"

Bruiser, obviously in pain, glances at a stout iron chest stashed under the pallet he was resting on. "They're in the chest under my bed," he grunts as the half-orcs tie him up. "But I done lost the key somewhere along the way."

Behind Bruiser, as he helps tie the bandit up, Davor can't help but roll his eyes. He leans in and whispers menacingly in the man's ear. "How unfortunate." Leaving the box for someone else to take care of, Davor helps Goon frogmarch Bruiser out of the hut.

"Lani, Goon--do either of you happen to be talented in, ah... assisting the unfortunate with their locks?"  Yatari leaned against the door frame and clutched at her stupid wound again.  Sweet unholy cacti, that was really uncomfortable!

Sakr continues to stand guard outside the building, occasionally glancing inside to follow the group's progress in subduing Bruiser and retrieving the stolen goods.

Lani produced a leather pack of shims, picks, and small prybars from her belt, undoing the buckle and allowing the rolls of tools to cascade open for easy access.

"'Tis but the work of a moment, fair lady. Probably. Maybe."

Hedging aside, Lani got to assisting this particular unfortunate with his lock -- after a good looking over for possible naughtiness of the booby trap variety.

20:42, Today: Lani rolled 13 using 1d20+4.  Looking for traps.

20:38, Today: Lani rolled 21 using 1d20+5.  Tools of a Burglaring Nature.

Bruiser grumbles to himself as Lani successfully picks the lock on the chest. Inside the chest, she finds the molds for the duchy's silver coin, one of which has a large chip missing from one side. Also inside are a matched pair of gilded throwing knives and a delicate crystal decanter labeled "oil of fiery burning."

Lani stood up and presented the fancy items to the group, but paid special attention to the damaged coin mold. "Do you suppose this one was damaged during the heist, or the fine people at the mint found the unusual design it created too quaint to be worth repairing? I would assume the former, but the latter has a joyful purity of intention."

The elf held up the twin knives and the doomy decanter of burning pain. "I... Imagine these belong to someone as well. Maybe worth a reward if we return them? And if no one comes forward..." She shrugged theatrically.

Davor shakes Bruiser slightly to prompt a response. "You didn't even manage to keep the loot intact Bruiser? Fortunately, the bounty is for your capture, not the return of the molds."

The half-orc looks around at his companions. "I think we might as well head back to town, wouldn't you say?"

Sakr shakes his head in disbelief when he hears about the damaged mold.

"Yes, let's get him back to town and claim that reward."

"Yeah, those are mine," Bruiser grunts. "I don't suppose I'll be gettin' 'em back, though..."

Once they'd moved Bruiser out the way, Goon didn't stop tying him. He had wound up his own rope as well, practically cocooning Bruiser's upper half  in bonds of hemp reinforced upon itself. Seemed the bouncer wasn't taking any chances. If he were honest with himself, which he wasn't, he wasn't proud of the way he lost his temper. Not slamming their captive into the ground - that part was a lot of fun - but rather raising his voice. Losing his temper. That wasn't professional.

The notably damaged mold made little sense to Goon. Why would that even matter? Couldn't the guys that wanted it make new ones? Hope they wouldn't need the broken bit later.

He paused at the all-too-familiar sound of a lock losing its job, and smiled at the lockbreaker, with his crooked, chunk-missing lips. "Ym bene gilter, Lani. 'Em pig pokas wita yella trim kesh'm yella tin ona bene?"

"I don't suppose I'll be gettin' 'em back, though..."

Goon gives a rumbled chuckle and finishes tying off a knot. "Funny. Real Funny." He dusts off his hands proudly before echoing Sakr with, "Yeah. Let's get him back."

Davor helps Goon move the prisoner back in the direction of town. "No need to go back through the cave I think. We can just rough it back to the road."

He looks at the back of Bruiser's head when he comments on the molds. "They aren't yours Bruiser, you stole them." He chuckles to himself.

"What should we do with him?" Sakr asks, motioning toward the unconscious but still living bandit. "Should we carry him back to town?"

"There's a mild chance he's got an outstanding bounty as well," Yatari offered.  "Let's take him with us. Did the others have anything of note on their personages?"

Apart from their weapons--shortswords, shortbows, and arrows--and their leather armor, the five defeated archers have a total of 66 silver pieces between them.

"Heh."

That chuckle chased behind three distinct actions, and it could have been made for any one of them.

First of course was the good fortune that came with coin. Eleven silver a piece wasn't bad for wiping a few guys out. The second haul came with the gift of goods. Goon had forwardly slung a shortbow and quiver of arrows over one shoulder, and set a sheathed shortsword onto his other hip. Nothing like more goodies for the taking.

The last thing? Well...it was the most likely for his mirth.

Bruiser - sewn up tight like a roasting pig - had been thrown over Goon's shoulder. The man was heavy, and Goon had grunted with the struggle. The wound in his side bled from the effort. He was sure there would be times where the man would be forced to walk, but he was happy with finding another way to humiliate their prey. It was subtle, but stately.

"Maybe we can take the horses?" Goon still had his concerns about the number of beds to the number they'd seen. He hoped that the horses would get them farther fromm the scene of their deeds faster.

Once the crew gathered what they could, Goon was ready to leave out.

"But how are we going to get back to the horses from here?" Sakr asks as he restocks his supply of arrows. "It doesn't seem feasible with two prisoners in tow. Let's just follow the river back toward the road and town."

It takes the party quite some time to find the way back to the road, especially because of their captives, one of whom is unconscious and the other badly injured and uncooperative, but they do eventually reach the road back to town.

Upon arrival, they learn that the duke's representatives have just arrived from Red Fern with two dozen city guards.

"You there!" one of the guards hollers upon seeing the party. "I'm Captain Coby of Red Fern," he says as he approaches, followed by about half of the contingent. "I see you managed to capture Bruiser... and another member of his gang, as well. Fine work! We can take it from here."

Davor steps in front of the prisoners. "And we'd be happy to hand them over to you captain. Just as soon as the matter of the reward for their capture is settled." The half-orc tries to walk the line between looking imposing and serious, but without being threatening or appearing to challenge the guard captain's authority.

"Oh, yes, of course," Captain Coby says to Davor, a brief look of embarrassment appearing on his face. He motions for another of the guards, who advances with a small wooden chest. "Did you recover the stolen coin molds?"

"Yeah. We got 'em."

Of course, Goon didn't have the molds. He just had the prize catch strewn over his shoulder. He made sure to drop them especially hard on the ground behind Davor, keeping a foot down on their bound ribs.

"'N some medical care would be a nice throw in. Couple of us got it real good, for the good of the land."

"Yeah," Sakr says when asked about the coin molds, motioning for Lani, or whoever had grabbed them, to bring them forward. "But it looks like one of them was damaged. It was like that when we recovered it."

"I see," Captain Coby says with a slight frown. "Well, at least you recovered them.

"We can have someone stitch up your wounds, but if you're looking for magical healing, you're out of luck."

"Then it would probably be a good idea to rest here before we continue our journey," Sakr says to his companions. His own wound is relatively minor, but Goon and Yatari appear to have suffered more serious injuries.

"Agreed. We have to sort out our business with the captain though." Davor reaches out to take the proffered box from the guardsman and opens it to check the contents. Assuming he is satisfied, he looks at Goon and nods to indicate that he can release Bruiser to the guards. He looks at Lani. "Might as well just give them the molds. They're no use to us."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:32, Sat 31 July 2021.

"Thank you for your swift and bold actions," Captain Coby says as he takes possession of the prisoners and the coin molds in exchange for the party's reward: 1,000 gold pieces.

The guards load up the prisoners and are soon on their way back to Red Fern.

Yatari had been silent through the exchange, wincing from the whole arrow that had entered her without her consent thing.  Still, she nodded to Sakr, Davor, and Goon.  "Just an hour without walking and my body may be able to get rid of this," she grumbled, casting prestidigitation again to clean the blood that had newly sept from the mighty gash in her tummy.

"The gold is good.  But it begs the question of what we should do next.  You can feel it, no?  That sensation that something's amiss.  Something's afoot.  Bruiser stole those molds and then we found him without much difficulty.  That's not the sort of thing you do on a lark. So... what inspired it?  And why?  Who stood to gain?"  She shrugged.  "It may just be my paranoia, but..."

"Bruiser's incompetent," Sakr says with a shrug. "And we happened to be in the right place at the right time. That's all.

"Now, how about we divide up the reward and find somewhere to rest for the day before we move on?"

"Heh."

The clinking of received coins in Goon's grip held a particular tone of finality. Finally. They earned it. Had it been worth it?

Goon watched as the bandit was carried off, sucking his teeth with his beelding wound, then looked to Yatari. Like most men, Goon was prone to complaining about their pain much more vocally and loudly. Like most women, Yatari had held herself in check despite it. It was an humble reminder, one Goon could remember relatively easily.

Yes. Yes this was worth it.

"In'eresting idea," Goon mumbled behind the tiefling's words. "'Ough I'm leaning with Sakr. Probably ano'er dungwadie" That last word was certainly not common, but it still held all the meaning that it needed too.

Really though, Yatari had a point. It wasn't particularly hard.

"But yeah. Bed. Breakfast. Beer. I'm about all 'at. 'At, 'n splitting our haul." Goon's eyes skim around for...something. He doesn't seem to find it, yet he smiles nonetheless.

"And...eh..."

Goon scratches at his head with a tribally-tattooed hand.

"Good work."

The thug starts heading to the inn in a combination of victory swagger and pained lean. It was interesting to say the least. Though people tended to get out the way of a bloodied muscled half-orc nearly 20 hands tall.

Or get out the way of the half-orc who, as well, was tall with a reaper's blade.

Or get out of the way of the tiefling who, additionally, was tall, bloodied, horned, and winged.

Not too many got too close.

And so the four received their money.  "We can rest here tonight and begin on the path to Red Fern tomorrow.  But in addition to having a moment to breathe..."  Yatari looked to her compatriots.  "I would like to purchase a wagon.  Surely no one will complain about not having to walk or ride the whole way to Red Fern!"  Besides, her genie's vessel had a fair bit of storage, but her patron got testy about entering it too often.  Having something else--something more tangible--for mundane goods simply made sense to her.

"I have heard of treasures in Red Fern," Yatari added, her accent licked by the distant winds of the searing desert.  "I wonder if the stories are true.  The blood of the slain water the Red Fern, after all."

Myre takes her share of the reward and then politely announces that she will be parting ways with the group and returning to the woods, having had enough adventure for now.

The town's small inn, The Wooden Heart, is dirty and noisy, with only shared common rooms available for those wishing to rest. The tavern and dining room are crowded with local laborers and travelers. The food doesn't look particularly appetizing--some sort of stew is being served today--but most patrons, many of whom are already quite drunk, don't seem to mind.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 174):

Alfie tastes his bowl of soup and grimaces. he reaches into the pack on the floor by his side and pulls out a short and broad leather cylinder, popping it's top and taking out a mortar and pestle. He pulls out several small pouches and a couple of small jars one at a time, taking a pinch out of some of the and dropping the contents into the mortar. A bit of pestle action and he pours the result into his stew, tastes it,and seems much happier with the results. He packs his kit up and slips it back into his pack and tries his ale. He can barely get the sip down. He slides the flagon away from him and reaches back down into the pack, coming up with a water(or wine, after all, you never know)skin. He then sets to on the improved stew.

Just outside the door of the inn, Davor places a hand on Yatari's shoulder. [Language unknown: "Ncbe."] There is a soft green light that passes from the half-orc's hand to the tiefling's shoulder and then down to the wound that she'd holding. The flesh knits itself back together and the blood stops flowing.

Davor rolled 8 using 1d8+2.  Cure wounds.

Davor barges into The Wooden Heart and doesn't seem at all put out by the crowd and the dirt. He makes his way up to the bar and muscles in between a couple of patrons to get face to face with the person behind it. "My friends and I would like some food and drink." He slides a single gold piece across the bar.

Looking right and left and the two men he displaced, Davor sniffs the air as though trying to identify a smell. "The scent of destiny is in the air gentlemen. Would either of you care to learn what might be in store for your futures?"

He looks back over his shoulder at Goon, Yatari, and Sakr with a wink and a broad grin.

Iluria sits at the bar, hood pulled up and over her head to mask her pointed ears and the small crown of antlers forking from her brow. With the din of The Wooden Heart enveloping her, she hunches her shoulders and bows her head, gingerly raising a hand to try to get the barkeep's attention.

In heavily accented common, she says, "Excuse m-me, I would like an . . . ayle?" She slides a few small coins across the counter, a nervous smile spreading across her lips. A few moments later, she's staring into the tankard, sniffing the drink with trepidation. She raises it to her lips just in time for a man seated beside her to tumble into her, spilling the drink across the counter.

"Hey!? Iluria rises suddenly only to turn and face Davor standing a full head taller than her. Her eyes widen as her jaw drops slightly. "Y-you spilled my drink . . ."

In reply to Iluria (msg # 177):

Alfie looks up from his table, where he's avoiding his own ale in favor of his water(?)skin, "Count yourself lucky. Their brewer should be ridden out of town on a rail."

Rubbing herself again, Yatari was quite gratified to feel her wound was gone.  "My thanks, Davor."  She moved in behind him, and looked to Iluria when she commented about Davor spilling her drink.

"A fortune sounds perfect," Yatari confirmed with a nod, "but first--"  A big smile from the towering tiefling.  "Our sincerest apologies for your drink, maiden."

Davor nods sagely in agreement with Yatari as she attempts to smooth over his rudeness. "Where I come from a spilled drink is a sign of good fortune. An inauspicious start to better things." He slides another gold across the counter, this one towards Iluria. "It seems you find yourself an ale poorer and a gold piece richer. That transaction rarely works out so well for the barman." Whether he is cognizant of the affect his size has or not, he doesn't seem eager to start a fight despite his appearance.

Sakr follows the others into the crowded tavern, keeping to the back of the group and scanning the room for any potential threats. When Davor pushes his way to the bar, causing a brief scene, his hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of his sword. He watches as Davor and Yatari attempt to avoid a conflict, hoping that they are successful while preparing himself mentally in case they are not.

Iluria's eyes darted from patron to patron. When she was finished gawking at the half-orc's bulk, her attention was snatched by the man at the table sipping at his own drink. She was halfway through a stammered reply when the tiefling woman and her companion took it back.

"I-it is alright. I have not had these drinks before. I do not know what is good here." She inclined her head slightly in respect, though her fingers remained tightly wrapped around her staff, the tip rattling slightly with the tokens woven to it.

In reply to Iluria (msg # 182):

Alfie looks at his discarded flagon and his bowl, "I'm guessing not a lot. They don't seem to waste money on either a cook or a brewer."

As they approached the inn, Goon stepped to the side of the entrance, then caught himself. He'd been a bouncer for a long time; his place was no longer at the entrance. It was alongside these nutcases, going about kicking bandit ass.

Oh, I get it, Goon thought as Davor healed Yatari, Heal a pretty tiefling, and leave poor Goon to drink his own pain away. Of course from the arrow they took, Yatari needed Davor's divine doctoring more than Goon. His 200 yella tin would ease any pain he felt for the moment. Besides, Beer was always the best medicine.


Goon had taken no time to get a mug of beer-like beer in his hand. Happily he stood beside Sakr, behind the bar-seated group, sipping steadily with a small smile. He was already feeling better, though the bleeding wound in his side was yet to be tended to. He actually liked it now; what sort of person would walk up to a behemoth loaded to the gills with weapons drinking? Bouncer lesson 101 was looking the part more than doing it.

When Davor bumped into the bar patrons, the brawler laughed, then glanced down to Sakr in shock.

"Yo. Non need for 'at." Goon's voice was as gentle as the hand he used to reach out and place on Sakr's sword arm. Just to be sure he took a second glance. Yep, just Davor's frame finding a bit of trouble and patient company. Was Sakr always so jumpy? Maybe they didn't mingle in the city much. From that bandit beatdown, Goon guessed that it at least made them quick in a fight.

"Bare blade in'a bar?" Goon shook his head. "Bad bezness, buddy. No spilled drink worth spilled blood. 'Ere." Goon offered the ranger his mug with his gaped grin. "Take a swig. Coldlamp a bit."

Goon did listen in on the conversation with the new faces. With Myre having just left, Iluria's face surprised him. He wouldn't have thought too many druids were around these parts. Not that he knew these parts. Probably would be best for him to mingle a bit. Make some "friends".

"...I do not know what is good here."
"I do not know what is good here..."

Goon chuckled, then leaned in to bellow, "Only one way to fin'out. 'N make up for 'at spilt drink!" Goon raised a meaty hand in to the air over Alfred's head, then slammed his hand down onto the counter. When he slid his hand away, five gold coins lay in that place.

"Yo, barmon, give me 'n m'buddies a round of y'm benet! Non need for 'at muck y'm callin' a brew!"

Goon wasn't inebriated, but perhaps he was drunk on the excitement of a successful first adventuring gig.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:11, Mon 09 Aug 2021.

The two men that Davor displaced grab their drinks and move to another part of the room without saying a word to the half-orc.

The bartender's eyes dart around as he assesses the situation inside the tavern. He relaxes considerably when the half-orcs start passing gold around. With a nod, he quickly grabs the five gold pieces Goon had left on the bar. "I'll get ya our best," he says as he turns to duck into the kitchen. "It'll be a bit. Hold tight."

Iluria's wide-eyes slowly relaxed as a hesitant smile spread across her lips. "I would be very grateful to share a meal with you and your friends," she says, nodding vigorously. Taking her seat once more, she looks them over once more, her smile warming every minute. "So, are you a company of heroes? Do you fight monsters and save the helpless?" There were notes of wide-eyed idealism and fantasy in her words as she spoke.

Yatari looked at the woman and then to Davor, to Goon, and to Sakr.  "In most stories, I am the monster," she answered with a smile.  "Usually the wings and the horns give it away.  Ah!  But no, my monstrous nature is that I am a merchant, a trader, a haggler.  I won't speak for my new compatriots, but I feel confident that my inclusion precludes such notions as heroism from whatever our collective sobriquet may be."

She took a seat.  "Yatari, by the by."

Davor chuckled as the barman darted off to the kitchen. "You see? Now you get to try something worth drinking. Best drink you ever spilled."

He thrusts out a hand. "Davor. They call me the Spiritwalker for I've heard the voice of my destiny. We certainly fight monsters, but heroes might be a bit of a stretch." He grins mischievously.

Gesturing wildly, Davor addresses the man complaining from the corner. "If there's anything worth drinking in this place, we're about to get it. You had best join us if you don't want to miss the opportunity."

Sakr's hand moves away from his sword as soon as it is apparent that a fight has been averted. He looks up at Goon and nods without saying anything, then follows the others as they find a place to sit while they wait for their food and drinks to arrive.

In reply to Davor (msg # 188):

Alfie looks up from his stew, "If they don't have a decent brewer, I doubt they have access to an Alchemist. Still, you never know. They have any Dwarven Life Water?"

"I am the monster."

"Now 'at's a strong word."

That's what Goon wanted to say, yet he kept his mouth shut. Yeah, she was fanged and horned and tall and winged and talked funny, but she was certainly not a monster. In fact, beneath all that and the magic stuff and the blood still on their clothes, she was pleasant on the eye. Besides, who was he to think that his perspective changed her lived experience?

Most of all, he was chummy enough as it was. Anymore could ruin his reputation.

Seeing how introductions were going around, Goon grunted and threw his thick thumb at Sakr. "You can call 'at mon shy, for now." He shot the ranger an amused look, then he turned that thumb into his own chest. "Goon. Or call me whatever." As an afterthought he added, "Just don't call me delicate." His slow chuckle rolled like low storm clouds from his chest. He jerked his chin at Iluria as he leaned a hefty forearm onto the bar coun-

_*sqch* "Oopm."

That forearm was on his wounded side, and blood now smeared the space beneath his arm. With a shrug, he jerked his chin again. "What about you?" Horns, he added in his mind. "You know 'at beardyboy?" Another chin jerk, this one towards Alfred a.k.a. beardyboy.

In reply to Goon (msg # 191):

Alfred peers at Goon's side and pulls out his tools, "You, grab a stool and come over here. That needs attended to."

"I am called Iluria," she said, nodding solemnly. Taking a seat, shook her head when the others spoke of the stranger. "I do not know him . . . but I do not know any in these parts."

"You, grab a stool and come over here. That needs attended to."

Goon considered the stranger with a tilt of his head. Then he remembered it wasn't his first time a skinknitter with no name got him feeling right. So with a shrug he pounded his drink and scooped up a nearby stool from beneath another patron's descending derriere. Whether intended or not, Goon didn't bother looking back.

"No more 'an a tickle," Goon said, as much for Iluria's ears as Alfred's. He set the stool down and pulled off his leather vest. "Not from around here either, but can tell you 'ese wild colts are a feisty breed. One, two, three handaxes were laid down at his side, and Goon sighed as he lift his arm to give Alfred a better view.

"Put 'em all down, 'ough," he mumbles casually.

"It was a fine fight," Yatari confirmed, "and Goon did his part exquisitely.  Sakr and Davor--"  She gestured to those companions in turn. "They acquitted themselves exceptionally as well.  It's a remarkable group.  What brings you here, Iluria?  And yourself, Beardy Boy?"

Alfred looks up from where he was grinding more herbs as he pours them into his discarded ale flagon. To Yatari: "My cabin burnt down. I need supplies...and a new cabin."

To Goon: "Drink that. It'll help." He pushes the flagon towards Goon then pulls out a tool roll, which he unrolls. It looks suspiciously like a locksmith's tool kit. He starts probing the wound with what looks like tweezers and a lock pick, pulling out bits of leather or cloth as he finds them, "Damn, you got to clean these when you get them. I'm out of honey to pack it. Bite down on something." He sticks a couple of sewing pins in the wound, then bends them over to close it. Then he thumps it with his finger and the pins fall out. "There we go."

He sets about straightening his pins.

OOC:
10:14, Today: Alfred rolled 7 using 1d8+3.  Cure wounds.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:17, Wed 11 Aug 2021.

Davor's expression in response to Yatari's statement is skeptical. "I didn't think much of the fight to be honest. I hardly think anyone around these parts will be telling the story of how we dragged Bruiser back into town for more than a few weeks. Still, with luck we'll have more chances."

Sakr nods as Davor speaks. "Yeah, it wasn't much of a fight. Bruiser's men fell fast. And Bruiser himself was already badly injured when we found him. He got a lucky blow in, but it didn't do him any good."

After being on the road for what felt like an eternity, Cora finally sees in the distance a small town. Continuing to follow the road, after roughly two more miles, she makes it to the outskirts. A few buildings ahead, a sign reading The Wooden Heart swings from rope over the door to what she could only presume was the town's only inn. The thought of a bed and a warm meal was too tempting to pass up. Opening the door, immediately her senses were overwhelmed with the noise of the full tavern and the smells of ale and stew, plus a few unsavory odors from the patrons.

Great, this is just like the Backwater all over again.

Taking great care to avoid touching some of the rougher-looking patrons, Cora makes her way over to the bar where she can see an odd group assembled being given amble berth from those she was trying to avoid. Reaching an open seat at the bar, she digs out two gold from a hidden pouch on her belt and places them on the counter before her, "I'll take an ale and a bowl of stew." On her hand, a signet ring could be seen, bearing a stylized A.

The scarlet-haired woman, in her early twenties, was wearing a suit of fine chain mail with little road dust, as though it had been recently cared for. On her back, she bore a shield with an emblem crafted into the metal of a right-handed gauntlet, palm facing up. On her belt, a scabbard held a longsword on her right hip and a warhammer hung from her left. Five javelins were secured to the side of her pack. Perfectly arched brows drew attention to her piercing gray-blue eyes, a small scar on her upper lip barely discernable in her alabaster skin.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:53, Sun 15 Aug 2021.

The bartender emerges from the kitchen with a large jug in his hands and heads over to the adventurers' table. "The people in this town just want something cheap that'll fill 'em up and get 'em good and drunk quick..." he says with a frown as he places the jug on the table. "This is my own personal brew. It's not as good as some of the drinks you might find in Red Fern, but it's a vast improvement over what we serve here, if I don't say so myself.

"And our cook is working on a new batch of stew for ya, too."

Goon spotted the Alchemist's supplies and snickered. He'd seen worse, but not by much. Not by much at all. grunted - toughly as the seamstress worked their thread through his skin. Where's that damn drink? He whined in his mind, knowing full well how much easier it made this process. And also how much cooler he would have looked.

"Drink that. It'll help."

Goon shrugged and took the drink, downing most of it in a single swill. "I'll say it 'elps. Been waitin' for are drinks since...since...eh." He took another swig, sucking his teeth as beardyboy did their thing.

"Damn, you got to clean these when you get them. I'm out of honey to pack it. Bite down on something."

"Haw. Bite me, beardy. HawhaaAAAH! #%&@!"

Goon growled as they did whatever they deep, then looked down after the thump.

The damn pins fell out.

"Whadda...?"

Goon reached down to pluck a stray pin off the ground, looking to his wound - healed at that - then back to beards. "By the wanking damns, beards. You're aight by me." He stood up off his stool, touching at the faint scar that had certainly been a painful wound.

"'Ank you for 'at. I 'ink you deserve 'is flagon more 'n me." Goon hands the proffered flagon back...though there is hardly any drink left.

Which really was perfect timing as the barkeep finally came out with more drink, even stew to fend off the soon-to-be-inebriated munchies.

"Aight, tender. Good stuff. Good stuff. Come on now, evymon." With a self-appointed duty Goon begins to dunk mugs into the barrel and pass them down the line. The clink of coins an armor drew his attention to the young armored lady. Generally at this point, he would have grinned at his fortune of so many young woman frequenting this establishment. But he was too busy with the important job of getting his companions drunk for now.

"Aye, 'at pig poka 'n tatta-mash would make me 'ungry too. 'Ere ya go, namon!" Once the newcomer takes a mug and everyone gets one, Goon will begin passing out stew like it's his job.

As she was handed a mug by the half-orc,"My thanks... Cora paused, lost for a moment on what to say. "I didn't catch your name. I am Cora Astorio, a follower of Torm.

Raising the pro-offered mug in a silent toast, Cora took a deep swig. Not having tasted the first batch, she had no trepidations on the quality of the ale.

Davor joins in Goon's enthusiasm for the drinks by taking one as it's made ready. He raises the mug to the bartender by way of thanks and then downs half the drink in one go.

Davor raises an eyebrow when Goon invites yet another new arrival to the table, but says nothing since, unlike the bearded man, this one is well armed and armored. "Join in then Cora Astorio. We've done work that would please your god today. They call me Spiritwalker, but Davor will do."

Yatari gave Goon's shoulder a squeeze, and turned her smile to Cora.  "Yatari," she introduced with a smile.  People dressed like Cora--who introduced themselves as followers of so-and-so--often took offense to people like Yatari.  The whole horns and wings and teeth thing.  Still, she gave the no-longer-injured rogue another shoulder-squeeze.  "Who knew so many friendly souls existed on the road to Red Fern?  I'm delighted.  Davor speaks the truth, even if our accounts of the event differ on stylistic tellings."

Alfred spears a bit of meat from the 'new' stew then tries a bit of the 'new' ale, then shrugs and sets them aside and cleans his tools and re-stows them.

Looking around amongst the group that I had been invited to, there was an odd assortment. Davor and the other half-orc, towering above all except for Yatari. Cora had seen tieflings before, though the sight of them was not commonplace. She, however, was far more beautiful than any of those Cora had seen in the city. The two other humans sitting around the table seemed quiet, the one dressed in black more so than the other. It would take more than idle chatter to truly befriend that one. Cora decided not to push her luck in that regard; however, asking their names was something she could settle for to start.

"Glad to meet you both, Davor and Yatari. If you don't mind my asking, what are the rest of your names? What brings you all to The Wooden Heart?"

As the stew was passed around the table, Cora took a spoonful. Seeing the steam rising from the spoon, she delicately blew on it before taking a bite, lest she risk a burnt tongue.

"My name's Sakr," Sakr nods at Cora, taking a sip of the newly-arrived beverage. "We were traveling to Red Fern, each for our own reasons, when Fate brought us together to capture a daring, yet foolish bandit. We have stopped here for the night to rest. I suspect we will continue our journey to Red Fern in the morning." He glances around to see if any of his companions have anything to add, then asks Cora, "What about you? What brings you here, Cora?"

"The same as you it seems. I'm also on my way to Red Fern." Cora responded as she continued to eat her stew. It was not of the quality she was used to, but after traveling most of the day it filled her belly nicely. "Mind if I tag along? Some companionship would be welcome.

Davor's eyes widen dramatically and he leans forward with a look of intensity on his face. "So long as you are willing to accept the consequences of such a bold decision. Who knows what twists of fortune may await?"

He leans back grinning broadly. "We're not going to say no to an extra sword or an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night."

"Nope. We wouldn't."

Goon steadily downed his mugs as they speak, then moved to Alfred to clap a hand down towards their shoulder.

"You comin' too, beardy? Sure we could use'm skinsticher around."

In reply to Goon (msg # 210):

Alfred shrugs, "May as well, I'm broke and I need a major resupply. There's going to be money in it, right?"

"May as well, I'm broke and I need a major resupply. There's going to be money in it, right?"

Goon chuckled, clapping his hand on the man's back. "Welcome to the party."

That seemed to be his only answer.

"Aye, tender, quite sure 'at yellatin covers a room for me. Ich'um'a?"

Cora raised her eyebrow as the half-orc began to speak once again in half comprehensible sentences. Turning between Davor, Yatari, and Sakr, as she is unsure exactly who to ask, Cora finally utters, "Does the other orc fellow get easier to understand?" She pauses, long enough for an answer, before turning to face said orc, "Hey Big Guy, what's your name? If you don't want to tell me, I'll just keep calling you whatever seems fitting at the moment."

"Wherever you can find a spot," the bartender replies to Goon. "We've got two common rooms upstairs or you can sleep in the tavern once it quiets down."

"We've got two common rooms upstairs or you can sleep in the tavern once it quiets down."

Goon sucked his teeth and tucked a loc back up into his topknot. This certainly wasn't the city. It was one think to be full in the cups, but these bumpkins really did live in some sticks if they willing slept on a tavern floor.

"Hey Big Guy, what's your name?"

Goon squinted at the armored woman over his mug. "Oh yeah. Cora, right?" There was a slur to his voice; it was subtle, content, present. "Goon is how they call me. Of the," he looks the woman up and down, "Teyeeti bloodline, second of sum'mon, third of m'moms."

He grinned as he placed his mug down long enough to get more stew.

Derrick shrugs to Cora. "It sure isn't orcish. I assumed it was some kind of city speak that all you people from 'civilized' places understood."

He downs his own stew quickly. "We'd better get some rest. There will be a lot of travel ahead."

The rest of the night at the inn passes without incident. There is plenty of stew and drinks for everyone, even if the quality is mediocre at best. And the adventurers are able to secure spots to sleep in the common rooms.

The following morning is warm, and a light fog hangs over the town.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 217):

As light, trough yonder window dawns... Alfie sits up from where his head was on his pack on the common room floor, looks around, then puts his knife back in it's sheath. He rolls up his blanket and waits for the linguistically challenged gentleman and his companions to vacate their rooms and come down stairs.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:10, Sun 29 Aug 2021.

A familiar sight greeted Cora, walking through the halls of her home. The guardsmen greeted her by name or nodded in her direction. Tonight was the yearly ball thrown by the Astorios. All the prominent members of the city were in attendance, including the Bloodmores and their son Jace. The Bloodmores were the Astorios sworn rivals. The two families were the two wealthiest families in the district and they were always at odds during any gathering where both were in attendance. Cora and Jace hated the way their parents bickered. Their parents wanted them to be at odds with each other, but the more they tried to pull them apart, the closer they became.

In her usual fashion, Cora arrived at the ball late. As the guards opened the double doors to the ballroom, all eyes turned to her. Wearing an emerald green fitted silk dress, her scarlet hair braided and draped over her right shoulder. She was a sight. As Cora descended the few steps leading down to the floor, the whispers began among the crowd. When would she marry? Who would she be betrothed to? What more would the Astorios gain when she did? Jace waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, part of a tradition that started when the Blackmores first moved to the city, before their parents hated each other. Taking her arm, Jace led her out to the dance floor. They always reserved their first dance for each other, another tradition. Tonight though, their dance was cut short. Lady Astorio stood from her chair, raised her glass of champagne in the air, and rapped on the glass.

"I have an announcement everyone, please may I have your attention?" Looking in her direction, suddenly Cora's stomach dropped. Their parents had never interrupted the traditional dance between their children before. They always waited until after the song ended to start any announcements they might have. "Lord Astorio and I have finally selected a husband for our dear Cora. As I know, many of you have been questioning when or who she would be betrothed to. May I please present, Sonzas Kheilal."

Cora had met Sonzas before, briefly. It wasn't that she disliked him, but she definitely didn't want to marry him. "No." Feeling the tears welling up in her eyes, she looked briefly at Jace before she turned and ran from the room.

Cora woke with a start, the dawn brightening the sky outside. Looking around her, she could see that most patrons still slept. The dream from the night before, reminding her of the reason for her departure, had unsettled her. Her underclothes were drenched in sweat, her scarlet hair sticking to her forehead, and the color drained from her cheeks. She needed to change and take a bath. Folding her blanket and rolling up her bedroll, she moved to find the innkeeper. He directed her to a private place for her to bathe. A short while later, Cora returned to the common room, her scarlet hair still wet, the navy tank top she wore for an undershirt revealed another faint scar on her collarbone. Donning her chain mail once more, Cora saw that a member of the group from last night was now also awake, the one Goon called beardy.

"I don't believe we were properly introduced last night. If we're going to be traveling together for a while, I feel we should be on a first-name basis. I'm Cora Astorio. And you are?" Cora waited for the man to respond before she continued, "I'm famished. Should we wait for the others to wake before we order breakfast?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 11:27, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

Davor strides in through the front door of the inn shortly after Cora and Alfred meet in the common room. Where the half-orc has been is anyone's guess, but he seems completely refreshed (if not particularly clean compared to the freshly bathed paladin). The fog seems to cling to his frame as he looks around the room and then moves to join the two newest members of the traveling company.

"I'm not waiting. Great uncle Grumush was killed for refusing to start a feast until the sun had set. He often likes to remind me that you never know when you might be having your last meal." Davor seems completely unconcerned about the nonsensical advice as he takes a seat and waves over whoever is serving patrons this morning.

Alfie nods, "Yes, I am. At least I think I am, so I must be. Sorry, I used to be apprenticed to a cunning man before I withdrew from society. That was deeply meaningful, trust me. I'm Alfred. Hedge Mage, Brewer, Cook, Apothecary, Physician, and Tinker. You know: A Cunning Man. And I wouldn't eat here. Not after last night. I'll fix us something after the deep sleepers get moving and we hit the road. Trust me, you'll prefer it."

Sakr enters the dining room shortly after Davor. He nods at the half-orc and the two new additions to their traveling party, then takes a seat at the table without saying anything.

Cora chuckles at Davor's appearance in the common room and his nonsensical advice about feasting. She was raised in a far more civilized manner. Had she deigned to kill every person who made her wait to eat, she would be rotting in the city's prison rather than sitting here in the Wooden Heart.

"A pleasure, Alfred. And yes, last night's provisions were mediocre at best. I will gladly wait to feast upon what you cook up for us."

Sakr cocks his head toward Alfred and asks, "You offered to cook for us?"

In reply to Sakr (msg # 224):

Alfie shrugs, "I might as well, I'll be cooking for me."

After asking for a helping of whatever is being served, Davor turns back to the group. "Sounds like I'll be eating twice this morning then. An auspicious sign indeed."

He eyes Alfred. "You've got a lot of jobs. I find just being a fortune teller hard enough without half a dozen other things on top of it."

In reply to Davor (msg # 226):

Alfred shakes his head "No jobs, that's why I need money. I'm just well trained for looking after country folk."

When his food arrives, Davor downs it quickly then stands. "Fate isn't going to find us in this dingy inn. Let's hit the road." Then, assuming the others join him, he leads the way out out the door.

Sakr rises and follows Davor. I'm pretty sure that's not how fate works, he thinks, though he doesn't say anything to the half-orc. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Alfred and Cora are coming with them.

Alfie grabs his pack an shuffles off, wondering what happened to the horde that was part of the group last night. Oh well, if the maid starts screaming before they reach the door, he'll know.

As the others were getting up to leave, Cora grabbed her pack from where it sat on the floor beside her chair and slung it over her shoulder. Making sure her weapons were secure on her belt, and her shield was properly strapped on her left forearm in case of trouble on the road, she followed the group. "Whether fate finds us here or not, our business is not in this village. Our coin purses will only be depleted by dawdling here."

Alfred darts from side to side of the road, doing a bit of searching and, on occasion, grabbing a bit of this or that and sticking it in his tool sack.

At the first break, he takes out some of his dried food reserves and his cooking gear, "Alright, breakfast time. Who has a torch they can spare?"

OOC:
09:53, Today: Alfred rolled 7 using 1d6+1.  forage yield.
09:53, Today: Alfred rolled 13 using 2d20, dropping the lowest dice only.  daily foraging.

When we stopped for a break, Alfred prepared to cook breakfast. Upon asking for a torch, Cora reaches into her pack and pulls one out, and hands it over. "Do you have a way to light it? Or shall I grab my tinderbox as well?"

Savaro was not a natural traveller, at least in the rural sense. The bustling city streets and the smokey alehouses and gambling dens were more his natural abode. Still after that unpleasantness back home it had seemed wise to leave town and head for the more inviting climes of the city of Red Sheaf.

"I have a cousin there," he told his travelling companion and friend, the comely Tiefling Ash. "She can help us fit in."

A roguish smile appeared framed by his close cut goatee and his green eyes twinkled; even with their rather hurried flight Savaro was not a man to keep in poor spirits for long. "Think of it as a fresh opportunity. No one else will know us there after all."

The duo had just departed the inn The Wooden Heart after breakfast. Savaro was wearing his red cloak and blue quilted jacket and breaches over his leather armour. All of it was faded and in places almost threadbare but save for a little trail dust his clothing was clean, as was the man himself. Had the attire been newer the young man might almost have been a spoiled lordling slumming it. The rapier, sheathed at his side added to the curiously foppish look.

"That group ahead looks interesting. I think they left the inn a little ahead of us. What do you think Ash, safety in numbers?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:07, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

Alfie takes the torch, "Thanks." He looks at it. "Burn" It does. He drops it and places his pot over it, then gets to cooking. "A quick soup is about all I can do with dried food. Tomorrow It'll be fresh."

"Mmm, it would be so good to have some good old fashioned home cooking. Ash said to Savaro. "Do you think she would like me?"

Ash said as she looked up to Savaro. She pulled her thick hood up and settled her cloak about her shoulders.

"Shh..." Ash said in a stage whisper.

"Some people do not like the horns." Ash said with a  giggle.

Savaro smiles. "Westra? Yeah I think she'll like you. She runs a tavern and a bard is always welcome. At least the ones that can actually sing or play are welcome - the other kind get tankards thrown at them."

As the tiefling pulls her hood up he gives a wink of acknowledgement. "Personally I like them but I see your point. We'll keep our wits at the ready just in case, but with my beauty and your brains I think they'll take to us."

Moving a step of head to put himself between the strangers and Ash should they prove unfriendly Savaro holds up an empty hand to show he is not carrying a weapon and hails the group having breakfast by the roadside. "Well met strangers. Are you also on your way to Red Fern?"

Davor, who is watching Alfred cook, turns to look at the two strangers who were approaching. The massive half-orc cocks an eyebrow. "Sounds like Red Fern is a popular destination. I could smell something on the wind when we set out this morning. I think we'll do alright with the two of you." He waves for them to approach.

In reply to Davor (msg # 238):

Alfred blushes, "Sorry, I couldn't afford the bath house last night."

Sakr watches the two strangers carefully as they approach. He is surprised and a bit concerned when Davor immediately invites them over, wondering how it is that Davor is so open to new people.

Cora placed her pack on the ground next to where she sat. She chuckled at Alfred's comment, "I don't believe that's what he meant Alfred. Tell me next time you would like to go and I'll cover your share." It was obvious to the newcomers that Cora frequented the bath house frequently, seeing very little, if any, road dust on her skin or in her still wet hair.

Ash moved forward to introduce herself to each of the travels in turn offering her hand and the moniker that she has adopted for the road.

While introducing herself to Cora, Ash stops to admire the woman's armor.

"Oooh, so shiny!"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 14:03, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

Davor eyes Alfred with a perplexed expression. "I grew up in a tribe of orcs. If anything  you smell too clean." He looks at Cora. "The lavender does carry on the wind a little, but I don't think it's giving us away or anything." His next comment is addressed to the group at large, including the newcomers. "The spirits carried the scent of new traveling companions on the wind is all I meant."

Savaro chuckles at Ash's reaction to the striking warrioress, though he too had been impressed by the gleam.

"Don't worry, I lost my sense of smell in a dice game," he quips, to Alfred when he comments about bathing. The rogue follows his companion in introducing himself to the others.

"I am Savoro and I'm an adventurer of sorts. We have skills that might help you on the road if you run into trouble," though as he said it and looked at the towering half-orc Davor he wondered if such a though looking group needed help.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:02, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

Smiling at Ash, Cora nodded in thanks. "I take extra care to keep my armor free of road dust. It keeps me looking sharp and my equipment continues to perform in the manner it was meant to. It is a pleasure to meet you both. I'm Cora Astorio, but just Cora will be fine."

How does one lose his sense of smell in a dice game? Sakr thinks. What a strange pair of travelers... Of course, the four of us are probably quite the sight, too...

He nods at the newcomers. "I'm Sakr. What kind of skills might you bring to the table?"

"Swordsmanship, archery and charm," Savaro replies modestly.

He smiles conspriatorially. "I have certain talents that require... shall we say nimble fingers and fadt feet."

In reply to Savaro (msg # 247):

Alfie looks down at his current cooking project, "What do I bring to the table? Food and Ale, mostly. Well, the ale takes a bit of time ... and tools and materials I don't have right now. But we don't have a table, so..."

Davor's deep-throated chuckle echos across the road. "I'm Davor. People sometimes call me Spiritwalker. The spirits tell me secrets, the future, things like that."

In reply to Sakr (msg # 246):

Ash though on the question for a few moments.

"Hmmm, I know to stick them with the pointy end." Ash said with a smile while she revealed her rapier beneath her cloak. It was precisely at that moment that her hood slid from her head and she panicked to pull it back up, hiding her horns.

"Crap..."

"In case it wasn't obvious, Torm has blessed me with his divine power. I can take a hit, but also deliver devastating blows in return."

Seeing the hood slip from Ash's head, it seemed to Cora as though she hadn't wanted to let on what her heritage was. At least, not yet. "Are you trying to hide that bed head from us? I have something you can use for that. If you'd like?"

In reply to Cora (msg # 251):

For a terrible moment Ash totally forgot about the sudden and accidental appearance of her horns and plopped her back on the ground. Within an instant the tiefling produced a mirror to tend to her hair, and after the initial panic subsided her face blanched and slowly she turned to Cora looking sheepishly while looking up to the gleaming warrior.

"Wait, you mean that you do not care about my horns?"

A watching Savaro let out a sigh of relief he hadn't known he was keeping in. While he was very familiar with his friend's horns (which he actually thought rather cute) not everyone was so easy around tieflings.

He had moved a little closer to Ash, but for the moment said nothing, simply glancing around the others to see their reaction.

Davor, who was as completely unperturbed by the presence of this tiefling as he had been by the last one, assumes the question isn't directed at him and turns his attention back to his food. "No time for gawking. We've got to eat and get a move on. Fate waits for no one after all. The voices start to become deafening if I stand around for too long."

In reply to Davor (msg # 254):

Alfie nods, "Then grab your favorite bow or flagon from your mess kit and dig in, soup is on."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:58, Sat 11 Sept 2021.

Sakr shrugs in response to Ash's question about her horns. "Do you have wings? The last horned woman we traveled with had wings."

He grabs his bowl and takes a scoop of Alfred's soup, then sets to eating it without further comment.

Ash clapped her hands in excitement and invited herself to dinner. She produced a wooden bowl from her backpack and sat on the pack itself as she began to taste the soup.

"Mmm, yummy!"

The sky, clear and sunny before, darkens as the adventurers eat their soup. Grey clouds block out the sun and a cool wind begins to blow; it looks like a rainstorm is approaching.

After downing his portion of soup in one fell swoop, Davor sniffs the air curiously. "That sure came on quick. If we don't want to travel in the rain, then we should look for shelter now." Following his own advice, Davor surveys the countryside for anything that might offer protection from the coming storm.

In reply to Davor (msg # 259):


Alfred gives Davor an odd look, "Look for it? We just left it. That way, remember?" He points back towards the inn.

Davor tuts and wags a finger back and forth. "Yes, but that would be going backwards."

Savaro looked up from the soup he'd been happily eating and smiled ruefully.

"I'd prefer to press on if we can. I'm not a countryman and I'm not such a fan of rain I'd like to get soaked but I'd agree with the priest. It seems a poor omen to begin a journey by going backwards."

Alfred shrugs, "You asked for shelter, not NEW shelter."

Sakr stows his mess kit and pulls on his backpack as he rises. "Yes, let's press on. There's no point in going backward."

He watches the clouds as he waits for the others to get ready to leave.

Ash pulls her hood back up. She empties a little bit of her waterskin into her bowl to clean it out before she stores it in her backpack. After a bit of effort she settles the back, and its weight evenly about her shoulders.

In reply to Ash (msg # 265):

Alfie starts putting his tools away, gesturing the remains of the meal away from tool as he puts ladle, pot, spoon, bowl and knives away, then one more gesture at the remains of the torch to extinguish it.

"No, your horns are fine. I care more for people's actions than what they look like. Now, that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to present ourselves in the best way we can," Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a comb and handed it to the tiefling to use at her discretion.

Cora pulled out her mess kit and quickly ate the soup Alfred had made for the group. At the mention of rain, she pulled out her traveling cloak and pulled the hood over her head. While she was not afraid of getting wet, it did not make for comfortable travel. After cleaning her mess kit, she reloaded her pack and placed it over her shoulder. Once extinguished she picked up her torch and tied it to the outside of her pack to let it cool.

Davor also pulls a cloak out of his pack and, after clasping it around his neck, he lifts the hood over his head. The hem of Davor's cloak is badly frayed and travel stained. There are more than a few spots that are likely bloodstains. He falls into step behind Sakr and responds cheerfully to the ranger's comment. "I'm glad you agree."

Savaro finishes the last of his soup and carefully cleans his bowl before tidying it away. He carefully unrolls a cloak that like much of his clothes is obviously of high quality and surprisingly clean but also frayed and faded with age and in all likelihood several past owners.

"Onwards then," he says cheerfully.

In reply to Davor (msg # 268):

Ash approaches Davor and walks with him for a while before she speaks, "You mentioned voices. Who are they?

The sky continues to darken and the wind picks up as the party sets out on the road again. The oncoming storm appears to be approaching from the direction whence the party came.

Glancing at the sky, seeing how quickly the clouds had darkened, Cora turned to her newfound companions, "Perhaps we should pick up the pace? This storm is moving in rather quickly. I would rather not be caught out in it." Cora pulled her cloak around her just a bit tighter, trying to keep the wind from stirring up too much dust on her freshly cleaned armor.

Davor glances down at Ash and laughs. "I am cursed to hear the constant nagging of the spirits of my ancestors. They give advice and council. Sometimes they'll give me hints about the future if I ask nicely, but mostly it's having to listen to them prattle on about destiny and family honor. Then of course there's the constant bickering between the human half and the orc half. 'Destined to be a great warrior' has very different interpretations it would seem." If the voices really are so annoying, then Davor takes the circumstance in good humor as he doesn't seem the least bit upset about any of it.

Davor glances at Cora without bothering to look up at the sky. "Whether we outrun the storm or not won't have much to do with the pace we set, but I can move faster if we want to." He does keep an eye peeled for somewhere on the route ahead where they can take shelter.

Savaro raises an eyebrow at Davor. "You have a busy head cleric," then laughs lightly and adds: "But better a companion who thinks too much than one who thinks too little."

He walks a little faster, taking up position by Cora. "What about you warrioress? Do you have voices too?"

A small smile plays on Cora's lips at Savaro's comment. "Not in the way Davaro does. I do, on occasion, hear phrases my mother used to tell me when I do something she would not approve of. Those are more memories than voices, I'm afraid. Do I dare ask what machinations you have rolling around in that head of yours?"

Savaro smiled roguishly and winked. "What makes you think I have anything in my head lady red?"

A small laugh escaped Cora's lips. "Just a feeling I have. You have a look about you. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

There was something about this one, a mischievous glint in his eye perhaps, but Cora had the feeling he would keep her on her toes.

Davor nods in mock solemnity. "Yeah, it's my lot in life. Not sure if hearing voices counts as thinking thoughts, but I'll take it."

Alfie cross the rod from where he was searching underbrush on one side, and starts searching underbrush on the other side, on his way, "I find voices distracting as all get out. Interferes with thinking, and attracts attention. It's why I moved into the hills to live alone. Great for focus."

The group continues to travel toward Red Fern as the storm approaches. Eventually, it starts to rain, lightly at first, then increasing in intensity until it is a steady downpour. There does not appear to be any shelter anywhere among the rolling hills on either side of the road, leaving the adventurers with no real choice but to press on.

Savaro quirks an eyebrow and smiles. "Lady red, you are a distressingly good judge of character. I think we'll get along wonderfully."

He chuckles at Davor's self deprecation and raises his eyebrows at Alfred's talk, clearly still trying to figure the other man out.

As the rain starts up he glances heavenwards and sighs. Maybe heading back to the inn hadn't been such a bad idea after all...

Cora smiled knowingly, "Yes, my family is rather well off and it became a necessary skill. Many of the wealthy are not as friendly as they wish you to believe. I believe we will as well."

As the rain started, Cora knew they were still a ways off from their destination. She had a feeling by the time they arrived, she would be wet, cold, and most likely in a sour mood. She just hoped no one would fall ill from traveling most of the day in the pouring rain.

The rain continues for several hours as the party keeps traveling. The road becomes a river of mud, making it almost useless as a path, but the rough, rugged hills around the road offer even worse footing. Visibility is very poor, with cold winds tearing sheets of rain across the adventurers' field of vision. The sound of the storm is tremendous, making it hard for the travelers to hear each other without shouting.

Just when they feel they can go no further, the travelers spot a two-story, stone structure with a wooden roof and two chimneys ahead of them. A welcoming light comes from the building's two windows.

Pointing to the structure, Davor shouts over the storm. "If what we find inside is worse than this storm, then it must be meant to be!" He presses towards the building with every intention of banging on the door until it is answered.

Savaro didn't need to be told twice - the rain water had turned his rakish short beard bedraggled and his cloak sodden through. The rogue swiftly followed the half-orc towards the door.

Cora wasted no time following Davor to the building, she was cold and soaked through to the bone. Her traveling cloak held up for the first hour or so but was not sufficient for prolonged exposure in a storm of this magnitude. Seeing light in the windows, Cora had hope that whomever inhabited this building was there and nodded toward Davor to knock on the door. She would much like to just walk inside and get out of the rain, but this could be someone's home and she would likely not get a warm welcome if she just let herself inside.

Alfie pushes though the crowd standing outside the door and...knocks. "One never gets answers waiting on others. The best way to get them is to...go get them."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:25, Fri 17 Sept 2021.

As the party approaches the building, they see a sign outside that reads: The Traveler's Boon.

Upon knocking, they hear a voice call out, "Come in! It's open!" When the party enters, they find themselves in a warm, cozy inn. A man behind the bar waves at them. "Oh, my! You're drenched! Please, come warm yourselves by the fire," he says with a smile. "Welcome. The name's Tal. Can I get you some hot food?"

Davor, distinctly not used to being warmly welcomed in anywhere, particularly not in the middle of a raging storm, lets the others file in first before stepping in behind the group and closing the door. He sheds his cloak before proceeding into the room with the intention of hanging it by the fire to dry. Of course, this has the effect of revealing the armor and other accoutrements underneath the garment which do not tend to set people at ease.

As soon as Alfie gets inside, he tells his 3 largest articles of clothing to warm up. They start steaming slightly.

Savaro looked at Alfred with new found respect. "You will have to teach me that trick," he said.

"Greetings Tal," Savaro said to the innkeep, delivering a gentlemanly nod as if he were not soaked to the bone. "I think food is a splendid idea."

Ash requests a spiced tea and settles in as close to the fire as the innkeep will allow.

"Ick, so w-w-wet! she says after a sudden sneeze.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:11, Sat 18 Sept 2021.

Sakr follows the others inside the inn and heads to the fire, taking off his cloak and pack and setting them near the fire to dry out. As he takes a seat with the others, his eyes scan the room, taking in the interior of the inn and its current occupants.

There are only a handful of other patrons seated in the inn. The arrival of the adventurers attracts their attention initially, but they soon return to their food and drink as Tal rushes off to fetch the same for the party. He returns after several minutes with mugs of ale for each of them.

"I'll have some bread and roast beef out for you shortly," Tal says. "Are you going to want a place to stay for the night, too, strangers?"

"Yes please! Ash said from the fireplace to the innkeeper. She moved to the table to appreciate the ale while she produced a lyre from her backpack.

"Ah, here we go..."

Looking around the table she asked.

"Does anyone mind?" while she set to tuning the instrument.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:33, Sat 18 Sept 2021.

As the door opened, Cora realized the building was a haven for travelers such as herself and she became much more at ease being there. She removed her cloak and followed Sakr to hang it by the fire. "Tal, it is lovely to meet you, although, I wish the circumstances of our arrival had been more pleasant. Bread and roast beef sound wonderful. If it is not an imposition, I would love a place to stay for the night. My armor is not very comfortable when my underclothes are wet. Also, do you have a place for a bath? I am chilled to the bone and soaking in the bath is the most efficient and relaxing way to warm up, in my opinion."

Ash pulled a lyre out of her backpack which made Cora smile. "Not at all, Ash. I always loved when bards came to visit us at the castle." Cora stood near to the fire, trying to dry off while she waited to hear from Tal and listen to Ash.

Davor hangs his own cloak by the fire just as Tal returns with the mugs of ale. After accepting one of the mugs, Davor takes a sip and nods in response to the innkeeper's question. "We'll be wanting a room or two if you have them available. It's been a long day's travel, never mind the storm."

The half-orc finds a seat by the fire in order to set about drying himself and listen to Ash play. At Cora's question about a bath, he looks at the paladin with an incredulous expression. It's clear that the thoughts running through his head are a mixture of disbelief that anyone would want to soak in water after having come in out of a storm, and confusion about why anyone would want to bathe two days in a row. All he can manage to say is: "The rain was enough of a bath for me. I'll take the roast beef by the fire."

"I wouldn't say no to a bath," Savaro said, hanging his own cloak up. The rakish rogue took up position near Cora and smiled at Ash.

"Play on Ash. Roast beef, a hot fire and a talented bard... Not a bad way to end an evening even if I'm not currently weighed down by sacks of gold and jewels."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:46, Sun 19 Sept 2021.

"Oh, yes, we have a couple of rooms available," Tal says with a nod. "But, unfortunately, I don't have anywhere private for you to bathe."

When he brings the adventurers their food, he asks, "What brings you folk through here tonight?"

Ash begins to work on a soft melody as she warms her fingers and tests the sound quality of her instrument.  She waves at the innkeeper as he rejoins the group in the main body of the inn.

"Is this okay?' Ash mouths as her fingers dance over the strings of her lyre.

Alfie looks up from monitoring his clothes' drying, "The rain." He looks a bit puzzled at the question.

Cora sighed, "That is alright, Tal. Can you show me to our rooms so I can change at least?" Following the innkeeper, Cora entered one of the rooms after bidding her thanks to Tal. She first doffed her armor and laid it out by the fire to finish drying. Pulling her spare underclothes and a few other items from her pack, she freshened herself up before changing out of her wet clothes. She combed through her hair and wrung out any excess water before braiding it to keep it out of her face. She laid out her wet underclothes next to her armor.

Cora then rejoined everyone in the common room of the roadside inn and ate the roast beef Tal had served everyone. Her mood was vastly improved now that she was in dry clothes and couldn't help herself from tapping her foot along to the music Ash played. If she was home, she would likely be dancing around the room, but she didn't know how well any of these people could dance.

A thought came to Cora and she grabbed Tal's attention. "Tal, do you know how much farther it is to Red Fern?"

When Cora returns, Davor has pulled out a flute and is improvising alongside Ash's lyre. His style is not, perhaps, the best match for the lyre and his flute, which appears to be carved from bone, has a distinctly haunting quality to the sound it produces. The effect however, is not a terrible musical performance.

Savaro's face fell at the news there would be no baths. Still his mood gradually improved as he warmed himself by the fire and listened to Ash and Davor play.

The rogue idly retrieves a deck of cards from his pack and plays a solitaire version of Three-Dragon Ante as he awaits the promised food and listens to the music.

"I wish I'd thought to pack a change of clothes too lady red," he said as Cora returned. Savaro smiled ruefully, as he shuffled his cards. "Another thing to sort out in Red Fern."

Ash's fingers dance across the lyre as she begins her original song, "Dragon's Ball".

Cora smiled at the rogue, "One must always be prepared, Savaro. Especially for things such as inclement weather. It's one lesson from my mother I will always follow." From the look in Cora's eyes, there was probably more about her mother, but she didn't speak more on topic. "Would you care to dance, Mr. Savaro? It is one of the things I miss the most about home, the balls we used to host were such fun."

Tal furrows his brow at Alfred's response to his question. When Cora speaks up, he smiles and says, "Red Fern is about a day from here, dependin' on weather and such..." He spends some time directing everyone to where they need to go, then brings out the food. As he serves it, he muses, "I'm not one to talk, but there have been some strange folks passin' through here lately. And not all of them have really passed through."

Savaro looks surprised but smiles at Cora. "I'd be delighted Cora, though I fear the dances I know are less refined than those of your youth. Still, as long as you don't mind leading lady red."

Putting away his cards Savaro stands, and executes a bow of sorts and offers his hand to the paladin. The rogue moves with considerable grace, clearly natural agility rather than studied skill.

Sakr cocks his head to the side and glances up at Tal. "What do you mean by that? Strange folks who haven't really passed through?"

As the food arrives, Davor takes a break from his flute accompaniment to eat the meal. He raises an eyebrow at Tal's strange turn of phrase and leans in to listen to his answer to Sakr's question.

Alfie looks around at folks in puzzlement, "Well, probably means same as us: we're still here, so we haven't passed through, quite yet. Probably good for business. They need to rent rooms and buy meals."

"A bunch of brothers, you know, the religious kind," Tal begins. "They showed up here the day before yesterday. They've been nosing around a lot. They don't talk at all--can't get them to say a word. I think they're up to no good. But then, what do I know of such things?"

Cora chuckled then curtsied back to Savaro. Placing her hand in his outstretched palm, she leads him over to open space for the dance. Cora easily leads Savaro through one of the simpler dances she knows, pleased that one of the group was willing to take her up on her request. As the song concluded Cora yet again curtsied to Savaro. "Thank you for appeasing a young noblewoman, Savaro. It was a pleasure dancing with you."

Tal was still speaking with Sakr and Alred as Cora settled back down into her seat. "Tal, are the brothers staying here at the inn, or do they just show up from time to time?"

---

OOC: 09:15, Today: Cora rolled 15 using 1d20+2.  Performance.

Tal shakes his head. "Oh, no, they're not staying here," he says, glancing around. "I suspect they're staying in town, probably at Morning Star Abbey. Oh, I've probably said too much... Let me know if you need anything else tonight."

Once Tal explains his suspicions, Davor's presence shifts enough for people who are aware of such things to notice. His expression turns from one of enthusiastic interest to careful neutrality and he leans away from the inn keeper. "There are many strange customs in the world."

In reply to Davor (msg # 315):

Alfie waves Davor's comments off, "Just ignore them. I do. Much easier...and people leave you alone, when you do."

In reply to Cora (msg # 313):

Savaro obediently lets Cora lead him through the dance and he tries to match her, though his unfamiliarity with the dance shows. At the end he smiles ruefully and bows to her curtsy.

"I hope my two left feet didn't bother you too much lady red... I enjoyed that," he says, with a chuckle. "I think I'd be happy for another lesson or so if the mood takes you again."

Taking his own seat by the fire the rogue looked interested at the mention of these strange brothers, though he said nothing as yet. It seemed Davor - who of all of them probably religious followers the best - was thinking...

"Hmm..." Sakr crosses his arms across his chest as Tal walks away. "What do you think that was about?"

Alfie shrugs, "Means he doesn't trust them. But he thinks he trusts us, at least more then he does them. Could be they just don't act Holy enough. Could be they do. That's a problem for some folks. Could just be he's hoping we will stick our noses in and satisfy his curiosity while he can stay clear and clean if it goes sideways."

Davor, his expression still carefully neutral, watches Tal as he bustles about the tavern. "I doubt it's him trusting us. It's probably just idle gossip that he'd share with any newcomer who wasn't one of the brothers themselves. I don't know much about the area around Red Fern, but it may not be a very exciting place. Probably says more about Tal than anything about these brothers."

"If he trusts me, he obviously hasn't known me long enough," Savaro quips. His smile fades a little as he looks at Sakr's expression.

"You think we check out this abbey just in case there is more to this? I have to admit my curiosity has been sparked."

Sakr shrugs. "I don't know. I am curious, but, honestly, it doesn't sound like anything too serious. And we're all dried off now, anyway. Maybe we could check out the abbey in the morning."