You have arrived in the sleepy outpost town of Ardendale to the smoke of cooking fires, and as you get closer to the inn, the noise and bustle of commerce.  You quickly realize that this hasn't been an outpost for a number of years, but rather a stop-over for merchants travelling east.  The original palisades are being replaced with stone walls and ramparts, but a trained eye can see it is for prestige rather than protection.  Most of the surrounds have long been cleared of bandits and feral creatures, while the nearest hostile border is over a week's hard ride.  Farmers and their hands look up, but seem little surprised by armed travellers on the southern road, and return to their work paying you no more mind.

The Duke's Retreat Inn is easily found, being the most ornate as you approach from the south.  The other buildings are sturdy, but plain in decoration as is the wont in this region.  You have arrived a day or two before the meeting your contact referred to you, being held by a proxy of the Duke for which the inn is named, and is clearly his old hunting lodge.  What you know of the Duke is his fairness and justice, but his interest in his people overshadows relations with bordering nobles;  relations are typically strained, but never openly hostile.

Among those in the know, the Duke's general call for assistance points to a low point in those relations.  A tribe of gnolls appears to have allied themselves with an orc clan to co-ordinate raids across the Duke's southwestern border a week or more away.  The territory is unclaimed, but most reports indicate the non-human tribes were happy to war amongst themselves.  Some new agenda has motivated them and managed to overcome their natural hostilities.  The raids are disorganized and routed more often than not for the time being, but they are becoming more co-ordinated in their attacks.  Someone - or something - highly malevolent is behind this new threat, and the Duke is offering a handsome reward for those able to find out what.

You are the last remnants of your mercenary bands or adventuring costers.  They have disbanded for one reason or another; attrition, better opportunities, internal strife...  The causes were many, but the end result always the same.  The Duke's offer is a welcome break from caravan guard or courier duty.  And the pay promises to be much better as well.  Some of you have come for the money, some for the glory, some for altruistic reasons.  You are familiar with each other, at least by reputation.  Some of you have crossed swords, others have been rivals for the same treasure.  Despite your pasts, the camraderie of adventure and the promise of wealth and excitement has brought you together and repaired the schisms.  Well, mostly.  Time doesn't always heal all wounds.

It is midmorning, the Duke's proxy is expected tomorrow no later than dinner.  You have taken your various seats in the common room and prepare to tuck into breakfast.  The town appears well supplied; the smithy rings with hammerblows all day, the mercantile has a steady flow of customers, the stablemaster is discerning in his choice.  Midsummer is only a week behind you, and the day is bright and warm.

Adventure awaits you, do you heed the call?

Semina reflects on her thoughts as she finishes her morning meditation. She ties her long black hair in a knot and brushes off her cloak, after she used it for comfort.  Her mind is constantly straying towards the audacious Dwarven fighter named Snorri Steelskin.  Knowing nothing of her own background except for her deliverance to the monastery Siltar to the order of Iskgard,  at a very young age, she finds it odd that a Dwarf would find comfort fighting above the ground for this long.  

Semina has read enough to know that certain clans of dwarfs are greedy, mean natured, and will sell you out the moment payment was involved, but something about Snorri has her puzzled. People speak of Snorri, and how he stayed behind to filter out the citizens of Corade during a raid by goblins. They were attacking all along the outskirts of the unprotected city, and killing everyone in their rampaging path.  Not only did he and the other fighters cleanse the city of the goblin filth, but they took no payment for their good deeds.

 Snorri seems to be of noble nature, level headed and well a established fighter for his youthful age.  So why can't she figure out why he captures her attention?  Maybe it is because like her, he is a lone soul among strangers.  Could he be hiding from his clan for some unknown reason, or did he need to just come up for air?  Why does he continue to fight beside us, looking into death's eyes over and over, instead of heading underground again?  She notices his eyes glisten at the sight of profit, but when he fights there is the awe about him while he chops the enemy down.  

Semina yawns for a moment, and grabs a bowl of broth with a piece of bread to calm her stomach's griping.  She sits down by the fire pit to warm her up muscles, and starts in on her breakfast, just slightly catching a glimpse of Snorri.

Snorri was hungry, bloody hungry. The platter of stew he had wolfed down hadn't been enough to assuage his mighty appetite. At 5'2" he was big for a dwarf, and his large frame needed more sustenance than most. Only his stocky frame and luxurient beard gave away his heritage, otherwise he could be mistaken for a short human. He had decided at an early age that he was more comfortable in human lands than many of his kind - craning your neck upwards all the time gave many of his clan mates a reputation for being irritable, something he didn't have a problem with.

Raising his hand and bellowing for more food and ale, Snorri caught a glimpse of a coweled figure standing some way off. The alien curve of the semi-shrouded face tipped him off instantly. Orc! Reaching for his hammer, Snorri stands, but a better look at the face informs him that this is no ordinary Orc. He had seen this fellow before. Kagan-Zur, the hired killer. Snorri sits back down, deep in thought. Kagan was a strange fish, by all accounts, maybe accounted for by his parentage. Whilst in a wayside inn outside of town, Snorri had heard tell of Kagan breaching the curtain walls of Hellspire Keep - something no-one had done before. What his mission there was, who knows, but he came back again. To make him even more enigmatic, apparently he gave service to some God - odd practise for someone who takes money for killing.

Heathcliff sat on a wooden stool close to the inn's hearth at play with a corgi. He enjoyed for only a moment the childhood pleasures he abandoned for the guardianship of the untamed grasslands that surrounded his home. In the wilds, the wind blows, the sky rains, there is never enough food for five daily meals, and no hounds. Every animal for itself, so the saying goes. Yet, to the coddled Healthcliff, there was the promise of freedom as eventually his mentor and superiors would barely ever bother him, leaving nature to take its course and more importantly Heathcliff to his own devices. That indeed did occur and Heathcliff appreciated this as the virtual independance enabled him on nights where the lifestyle of his investiture grated on him to indulge in more civilized activities such as teasing hounds with food and warming oneself by a fire safe from the mercilessness of the wind.

His thoughts soon began to carry his eyes across the common room and Heathcliff stared intently at each and every patron's face reflecting on what he has heard about each guest in his travels. So deep are the druid's thoughts that the dog bites his hand and made off with the biscuit. Yet the light chomp proves jarring enough to the halfling's memory that Heathcliff finally recalls a description, almost forgotten after copious feasting and ribald storytelling, and matches it to a face. There he sits or stands. It's hard to tell with giants.

His name is Thaelie Starslinger, a half-elf and magic-user of some ill repute. It is said that many years ago in a duchy to the north (Heathcliff never traveled there, liking the warmer southern lands too much to leave for someplace colder), Thaelie Starslinger was an outsider (half-elves are always outsiders) trying to make way into high society. A chance encounter with the duke's daughter turned into an opportunity which the half-elf could not pass up. The affair was kept secret for many nights until surrounded by the dukes' elite guards, the magician made a timely horseback escape with both daughter and numerous precious heirlooms in tow as an explosion rocked the duke's manor and levelled half the buildling.

Finished with the recollection, Heathcliff thinks to himself, eyes rolling away from Thaelie, trouble is here once again, and sighs. Maybe a life of peaceful but miserable woodland living is better after all.

Starslinger didn't much care for ale, nor mead, nor any of the stronger brews offered in the tavern.  He was fond of dry snuff, however, and he carried a pouch of it most days.  Lately however, it seemed like it was getting dangerous to indulge in the habit.  Just last week, he had been in the middle of casting a relatively minor spell, when an unexpected sneeze resulted in his flaming sphere getting away from him momentarily, and crisping the mane of the nearby merchant's donkey.  

Slinger (as he was known by some), was not the most focused of magi, to be certain.  He sat at a corner table in the tavern, trying to study a tome on the art of making staffs.  He had barely touched his food, and was trying to stay unnoticed.  The "little incident" involving the Duke's daughter had caused him to mostly keep out of the spotlight.  He dressed in a plain set of clothes with little ornamentation.  His oversize bag contained the books and components of his craft, but to anyone looking at him, he was an ordinary commoner.  He tried to stay unrecognizable.  It was in his best interest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar face.  It was Sander Lightwalker, a pious soul he had encountered soon after the "little incident."  Before the castle blew, the Duke's guards were able to fire off a few shots that had hit their mark.  Slinger had made it to the next village before passing out.  When he sought help at the local temple, it had been Lightwalker who offered help.  Knowing that his kind was not always accepted easily, Slinger was relieved to accept Lightwalkers offer of healing and a night's stay.  

In exchange for the assistance, Slinger translated some tomes that had been recovered by some of the temple's pilgrims and the two parted on friendly terms.  

When he looked up and saw Lightwalker looking in his direction, Slinger raised his hand in a slight wave.  He wasn't sure if Lightwalker had seen him, but since he had begun hiding out from the Duke, it was the first friendly face he had seen.  It would be nice to reconnect with someone who wasn't out to have him hung.

Naran had never quite been comfortable in a tavern. They were inconsistant. One moment, the patrons might be friendly; the next, they might be fighting. It was almost like the behavior of nobles.

Perhaps it was the alcohol.

(OOC: A little filler first)

Looking around the darkened, smoke-filled room (Hard to read in and smoke wasn't good for the lungs), he mentally analyzed the clientel. It was a pastime of his; other people had always been a puzzle. There was a strong-backed, weak-minded man at the bar, on his sixth or seventh glass. He probably thought of himself as the honest, straight-foward type, but it was clear some sort of desperation was setting in and people got irrational when they got desperate.

At one table, a young man who obviously thought he was dashing was trying to woo a woman who was obviously, to anyone but himself, looking for pretty coin, not pretty words. He could understand the attitude; pretty words rarely did anyone and help. She should find another line of work, however. venereal diseases were simply too dangerous. Unless she had a cleric among her clients. It wasn't an uncommon arrangement among some orders; Cure Disease for 'free' services.

(OOC: And the background story - Which ended up mostly perceptions.)

And, over there...Semina, it seemed. A young monk, trained by a monastery from birth, parents unknown. For a moment, a brief surge of rage filled him. To break a vow was absolutely despicable and, for all the talk of some people about love, they often proved willing to abandon their principles the moment they proved inconvenient. Like all too many people...

...But, in any case, both their situations had ended well. His former Master had been fair - And Semina's monastary had trained and raised her to a high standard. She was one of the few people he'd met who was rational and orderly; her thought processes were generally clear and uncluttered. Almost, anyway. She believed in defending the innocent because it was 'The right thing to do'.

She'd seemed horribly offended when he asked why someone would defend an innocent who wouldn't defend oneself in turn. Honestly, it seemed obvious to him. One defended the innocent because the lawful kept society running and without them, access to goods, services and civilized society itself would collapse. But to think one's self indebted to someone who hadn't done a favor for you was simply incomprehensible.

(OOC: I wrote the post based on her perceptions of Snorri. I then checked her alignment, which said 'Lawful Neutral'. I think it still fits, but tell me if it doesn't)

From the corner of the inn, Kagan-Zur, carefully scanned the room, it was an old habit, mark you exits, size up crowd, look for those who possibly pose trouble. From the number of adventurer types to locals, it seemed like word of the Duke's offer had gotten around, no surprise really, times have been rough for sell swords of late. Some of the faces looked familiar, others not, but one caught his eye, a little fellow in animal skins and a coon skinned cap, a halfling. To look at him, playing with a mutt like some carefree child, he was not someone that would stand out as dangerous. But Kagan-Zur had seen this halfling before, and he knew better.

It was over a year ago now, Kagan-Zur had signed on with the now defunct, Red Company, he’d been assigned to spy on one Agha Horse-eater, a bandit, slaver and smuggler who was rumored to be supplying weapons to the enemies of local baron, their client. It was Kagen-Zur’s job to find out if it was true and who these rebels were. After quietly killing off one of Agha’s lackeys, Kagan-Zur managed to befriend Agha and hire on to fill in for the now missing lackey.

A couple of nights later Agha announced to his little band that it was time to earn their keep, they loaded up a cart with crates and headed down a little used trail deep into the woods. They reached the rendezvous spot and Kagan-Zur took point on an outcropping to look for trouble. He never saw it coming.

The woods suddenly erupted to life, trees swayed and grasped at the bandits, grass grew and wrapped about them. Then came the swarms of bees, men screamed and Agha screamed loudest, as his armor began to glow red-hot. From his outcropping Kagen-Zur had managed to stay out the effect of the magics, he also managed to remain unseen. But he saw the halfling, along with a few other men of the wilds types. Over the screaming he couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but it was clear that, Agha Horse-eater had wronged this halfling in some way. In the couple of days he’d known him, Kagen-Zur learned that wronging folks was something Agha Horse-eater did a lot of, but this time, it had been his last.

From the corner of the inn, Kagen-Zur, carefully scanned the room, it was an old habit, mark you exits, size up crowd, look for possible trouble. From the number of adventurer types to locals, it seemed like word of the Dukes offer had gotten around, no surprise really, times have been rough for sell swords of late. Some of the faces looked familiar, other not, but one caught his eye, a little fellow in animal skins and coon skinned cap, a halfling. To look at him, playing with a mutt like some carefree child, he was not someone that would stand out as dangerous. But Kagen-Zur had seen this halfling before, and he knew better.
It was over a year ago now, Kagen-Zur had signed on with the now defunct, Red Company, he'd been assigned to spy on one Agha Horse-eater, a bandit, slaver and smuggler who was rumored to be supplying weapons to the enemies of local baron, their client. It was Kagen-Zur's job to find out if it was true and who these rebels were. After quietly killing off one of Agha's lackeys, Kagen-Zur managed to befriend Agha and hire on to fill in for the now missing lackey.
A couple of nights later Agha announced to his little band that it was time to earn their keep, they loaded up a cart and headed down a little use trail deep into the woods. They reached the rendezvous spot and Kagen-Zur took point on an outcropping to look for trouble. He never saw it coming.
The woods suddenly erupted to life, trees swayed and grasped at the bandits, grass grew and wrapped about them. Then came the swarms of bees, men screamed and Agha most of all as his armor began to glow red-hot. From his outcropping Kagen-Zur had managed to stay out the effect of the magics, he also managed to remain unseen. But he saw the halfling, along with a few other men of the wilds types, over the screaming he couldn't hear everything that was being said, but it was clear that, Agha Horse-eater had wronged this halfling in some way. In the coule of days he'd known him, Kagen-Zur learned that wronging folks was something Agha Horse-eater did a lot of, but this time, it had been his last.

Sander surveyed the smoke-filled room from under his cloak's hood and caught sight of Starslinger, who waved upon seeing him. Sander nodded in acknowledgment. He liked the half-elf well enough, and suspected the feeling was mutual, though he knew that if Starslinger had any inkling of the type of person Sander had once been, when he had served a very different deity... his thoughts trailed away from his friend as the memories of the things he'd done in that thing's name, the people he'd killed, intruded on his thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to put the unwelcome thoughts out of his mind, Sander looked around the room, searching for more familiar faces. To his relief, his eyes came to rest on Naran Ezer, the wizard. Sander had only caght a glimpse of him once before, and had never spoken with him, but Ezer had quite the reputation. He was revered for his logical thinking, and his impartial approach to his various ventures, particularly tactics. Sander inwardly hoped that Ezer lived up to the rumors about him: the importance of thinking rationally, and not letting your emotions get the better of you, was something Sander knew all too well.

(OOC: If having Sander be a repenting cleric goes too close to the evil character alignment, i'll change his backstory)

(Repenting from evil is fine)

The other patrons take their portions of breakfast, identical from long practice by the inn staff, and eat it quickly in preparation for their day.  While Ardendale is clearly growing into a trader's town, it still retains the habits of its frontier days.  Quick, bland meals, and off to the fields, the shops, the walls, whatever day of work they have ahead of them.

Of course, it still retains the frontier town suspicions as well.  It is quite easy to tell who is here for the meeting tomorrow, as the villagers give you all a wide berth, narrow eyes, and not quite silent muttering.  It is also apparent by the higher price you paid for what is obviously the same portion of  porridge and dried meat.  You hear the patrons around you grumble at the innkeep.

"I hopes you gets a bit more out of the goldbrickers, Tarvin.  Layabouts need incentive to moves on!" a nearby farmer growls.

"I'll get the same out of them that I do out of you, Willen.  A fair price for a fair meal" replies the proprietor.

"If this be your new kind of patron, you might not get that out of me anymore!" the farmer barks back.

Several exchanges like this prompt the innkeeper to grudgingly pad your bills by a few silver kugats, rolling his eyes and quietly apologizing as he collects it, "Sorry about this, but I have to make money, too".

Finally, the villagers finish off their meals, congregate in small groups for the morning gossip, and start shuffling out the door.  The members of your group are obviously the topic of much early discussion, but after a few minutes, the conversations settle back down.  There is a bit of a commotion as they start to leave en masse, as it appears someone is trying to enter the building, and not making much progress.  A few shouts in Common and Dwarf, a bit of jostling, and a Dwarf in dusty trail clothes finds himself outside the throng and finally able to stand without being knocked about.

Except for several off-duty soldiers and a merchant or two, the common room finally empties, and the daily commotion starts anew outside the walls of the inn.

Warming herself by the fire place and finishing off her broth, Semina senses the tension building in the tavern.  She listens to the disapproval from other patrons about the company present, while sitting her bowl back down by the fire place.  Although the bar owner holds his own with the village aggravators, Semina finally grows tired of sitting around, waiting.  

She walks over towards the one they call Tarvin to return her bowl and mug.  Never taking her eyes off the other patrons, she waits patiently for the bar keeps attention.   As she places one hand on the bar, she notices the gentleman sitting next to her whispering into another's ear about what Semina's business is in town.  Semina just smiles a little underneath her black hair, and gladly hands over the flatware to Tarvin, with an extra piece of silver for all the trouble she's caused.  

She begins to head towards the door, but before she could take one step, all of the  restless town folk get up off their stools and begin to exit.  Semina decides to give them a wide birth, not wanting to draw anymore attention to herself, or get caught up in the stampede.  As she watches them leave in chaotic fashion, Semina takes notice of the groans from what she believes is another dwarf headed into the tavern.  "Poor guy," Semina whispers to herself.  She hopes he is not stomped into the floor boards, because even though he is heard, you can not see him.

"Moradin's teeth!" Thraim exclaimed once he was free of the crowd, "you'd think that there was a fire sale at the local brothel or something!"

Thraim stood in the doorway of the tavern and made a point of making a harrumph noise as he dusted off his worn leather traveling cloak with his leather hat.  He adjusted himself with large movements and lots of noises whistled through his thick black beard and mustache.

Thraim is large for a dwarf; he stands a few hairs shy of five feet tall, and he is very muscular.  His eyes are sparkling blue in color.  His hair, which is coal-black and long, is pulled back into a pony-tail, and tied with a piece of leather thong.  His beard is also coal-black in color, and it is full and long.  It is braided, and a piece of leather thong is inter-woven into the beard.  He is wearing dark brown leather boots, dark green leather pants, and a brown cloth shirt.  He is carrying a worn leather backpack as well.  Other than his large size, he looks like a normal dwarf except for the weapon on his waist.  Thraim is wearing a longsword on his right hip.  He also carries a dagger in his belt, and light crossbow on his back, as well as a quiver of bolts.

Thraim used the ruse of the bluster at the entrance of the tavern to assess the room, and its occupants.  After seeing so many locals exit the tavern at the same time, it made him suspicious of entering the tavern.  He quickly scanned the common room, and came to the conclusion that nothing crazy was happening but that it was quite a diverse bunch of non-locals.  After Thraim finished his preening at the entrance, he looks everyone in the room in the eyes if they meet his gaze.  

As he walks up to the bar, he says to the barkeep, "please give me thickest local brew, I haven't had me breakfast yet."

Thraim chuckles at his little joke as he removes his backpack and puts it on the floor under his feet.  He sits down at the bar, and looks at anyone near him with an acknowledging smile.

Quote from: Drohem;260318As he walks up to the bar, he says to the barkeep, "please give me thickest local brew, I haven't had me breakfast yet."

Thraim chuckles at his little joke as he removes his backpack and puts it on the floor under his feet. He sits down at the bar, and looks at anyone near him with an acknowledging smile.

"Well, imagine that!" laughs Tarvin.  "Nary a dwarf in eight months, and now two in one day!  Since the frontier was pushed back, there isn't much traffic from the Pardash mountains anymore.  I can see you aren't from around those parts, but when we had more folks seeking employment to guard the caravans, I had more call for this."

He takes a large mug and pulls from a cask under the bar, swiftly adding two shots of whiskey and a crust of black bread.

"I've only got another quarter-barrel in the back, so I hope you aren't bringing your whole clan in to visit!"  He winks at you with a broad grin.  Momentarily, he turns to the woman returning her bowl and utensils.  "Thank you, miss, I appreciate your patronage".

"I think this is how they used to order Moradin's Mead, but as I said, it has been a number of months since a dwarf has graced this hall."  He pushes the mug over to Thraim, but keeps his grip on the handle and after glancing around the common room, leans in a bit.  In a lowered voice he says "That will be five silver kargats, kind sir."

Heathcliffe smiles bemusedly at the open candor between the two dwarves as he pulls out some tobacco (grown himself) and begins to smoke it in a fine (for woodland living that is) pipe. Usually, in his experience, dwarf meetings are a little less exciting.

Kagan-Zur sits back in the shadowed corner, slowly eating his gruel. 'There be time enough to get to know these folks," he thought.  'That is if they all get hired, for now best to lay low and observe, people often talk too much, too soon, you can learn more by watching and listening.'