Deepwater's Despair

Gentlemen, I would like thoughts in italics, speech in "quotes," and actions between *asterisks.* Speech and thought may also be in colors, but be sure I can read them without undue distress. Spoiler text may be used to convey information to one or more characters, so please don't read them if your name isn't on them.

Our Brave Adventurers

Manzanita - Sargon the Barbarian [CG Male Human Barbarian 1]

dead_radish - Tyralis Deephome [NG Male Elf Ranger 1]

Mordane76 - Prendalin of Crosston [LN Male Human Necromancer 1]

Erekose13 - Fasithe "Fluke" Lightfingers [CG Male Halfling Rogue 1]

ender_wiggin - Torug "Little Bull" Skyhammer [CN Male Halfling Cleric of Talos 1]

carhesl - Korrim of Deepwater [N Male Human Fighter 1]

And now our story begins...

*Korrim once again found himself in his home town of Deepwater after escorting a string of horses from Willow Grove to the Trader's Guild there. He finds the town in a quiet and fearful state, the Guildmaster paying in goods instead of his usual gold, and a very megre selection of anything on the shelves. Old Kit Walker, the priest at the temple of Fharlaghn that found him on their doorstep so many years ago, is willing to tell the sad tale.*

"All of our outgoing caravans have been attacked, horses taken, wagons gone, goods vanished. Guards have been attacked in huge numbers with poisoned arrows, and when they try to pursue their attackers, they find themselves plunging into foot traps or stumbling into snares. It would take so many guards to give proper protection that there would be no profit. We tried hiring adventurers, but they tricked us. Brought a few arrows, described a hiding spot, and collected their reward. We sent out the next caravan, and it was raided as well. The town council won't pay for any more attempts, so I'm not sure what we'll do..." Kit says with resignation.

*Fluke, of course, knew all of that. He knew it because this was the reason Keylaran had built an alchemist's laboratory out in the middle of nowhere; because the various plants and other things around Deepwater made superior alchemy supplies. Keylaran had been waiting and watching for the caravans to be safe again, and when the caravan carrying hundreds of gold pieces worth of her alchemical supplies was attacked, she raged for a day and destroyed half the lab. Then she spent most of the night fixing everything. Keylaran was about ready to front the reward money herself if she could just get a group of people willing to truly investigate.*

*Torug, Prendalin, and Sargon had been working with Korrim to guard the horse string, and found themselves in Deepwater with little prospect for a job. Korrim at least had pointed them to the Empty Barrel tavern, run by Thrak, a massive half-orc who brewed his own beer. It was far cheaper for slim purses than the extravagent Two Swords Inn. Sargon had kept catching glimpses of his mysterious follower all the way to Deepwater, but hadn't seen him for half a day now.*

*Inside the Empty Barrel, it's dimly lit and smells of grease and ale. It contains a bar across the back of the room, and several heavy tables and benches. Thrak himself is at the bar, polishing it with a rag. The place has a low ceiling with exposed beams, and Thrak's head nearly touches them. He walks with his head leaned forward, and some scars on his forehead attest that he's had a run-in with the beams more than once. He wears plain clothes and a greasy, stained apron. He looks up at the trio as they enter, squinting at them in the glare of the fading daylight from the open door. A half-dozen others, mostly working men, are chewing their way through bacon, bread, and stew, and washing it down with copious amounts of ale.*

*Tyralis had kept himself out of sight as they reached the town, and found it far easier to hide himself in a town, even a town as quiet as this one. While the larger man had separated himself off from the others, his quarry and the other two had entered a small inn...*

Sargon The Barbarian

Sargon, alone in a strange world. Almost alone anyway. His two companions were almost as strange as he was. An awkward halfling raised by dwarves, and the wizard. Sargon suspected him of being a necromancer, and thus didn't trust him, although he seemed an honest enough fellow.

"There is little work today, my friends, but the future will hold no shortage, so instead of wallowing in sorrow, let us enjoy our night off. What I have, I will spend."

*The tall barbarian strides in, after only a brief glance at the surroundings. His carriage, the power in his arms, and his ruggedly hansome features drawing not a few eyes.*

"Greetings, Thrak. I'll take the best you've got for me and my friends, here."
*He smiles*
"Better tell me how much it will be first, though."

Torug Skyhammer

*The people around him towered over him, even the barstool was a few inches taller. He frowned, and noticed a few chuckles reverberate from the populace of the rugged Inn. Torug would have liked to challenge someone, but a week in jail had told him maiming people in public places was generally not allowed. So instead, he grimaces and swallows his pride. Torug swings up onto the stool, gracefully, an act he had committed ten thousand times before*

*Dropping a few silvers onto the bar, he smiles warmly and looks the enormous barkeep in the eye.* "Aye, well met. Some warm food and tall mug o ale, if you please."

"Don't worry over me, chap," says Torug, to the warrior beside him, "I've got the coin to pay for me own ale."

His common was far from perfect, but he had been around long enough for people to understand him and to pick up most of the discourse.

*Sitting with his back to the wall and his face over a stein Korrim watches the three newcomers enter. He hears some chuckles from some of the other patrons about the halflings and a few low-voiced comments, but he ignores them. Fools His experience has told him that halflings can make just as fierce enemies or friends than many and are more likely to stand fast when the arrows start flying than most. The big fellow looks like he knows how to handle himself in a fight though. Intrigued a bit, Korrim takes another swallow.
If there is trouble my money is on the big warrior and the two halflings.
Looking around the bar he sees several people he has seen before but none he would call a friend.

"What a hell-hole," Prendalin thought to himself, surveying the interior and the patronage. Leaning on his staff, Prendalin shrugs at Sargon. "We're not going to find much in the way of work spending an evening in frivality. The mule is getting tired of grazing on the sparse grasses along the way, and Thok needs something other than trail rations. I, for one, would be much happier on the trail with a job than sitting in a pub."

Working his way through those already here, Prendalin takes an empty table.

"By Tymora, Keylaran I bet you I could find us some unlikely heroes to deal with this. If you really are serious about offering that reward, I'll round us up a group and lead 'em myself." Fluke had boasted to his mentor.

*Now that he was in town wandering through the quiet streets he started to wonder if once again he had promised something a little too big. Bah he'd have to clean out the ashes from the furnace again if he lost the bet and came home without help like the last time when he said that he could find that herb Keylaran had needed.*

*Heading out of the Two Swords after an hour of drinking and asking around, his head hung low as Fluke decided to pop into the Empty Barrel and see if any of these so called heroes of the realm where laundering about. Must be someone in this town willing to make a bit of coin. he thought to himself as the bright light of the street swept across the floor of the dark tavern when he flung the door open. Stepping in he waited for his eyes to adjust before he surveyed the barroom looking to see who Thrak had managed to attract with his "famous" beer.

"Rich - no. Engaged - yes," Prendalin replies. "I'm sure this is a nice town and all, but we're business-men in the end; places like this don't pay the bills. They're nice to retire to and all at the end of a long and fruitful career, or to grow up in their relative safety. Anyway - aren't we bound for further west? There are larger towns - wasn't our destination Albon?"

*Torug sighs*

"Well, we're here, so why not make the best of it? There may be no job, but there's warm food. Come, I'll buy you a drink."

*Tyralis watches the group enter the inn, and considers. At some point, it's likely he'll be discovered - at the very least, he may have to intervene when that small one picks a fight. Hell, it seem like he was going to head-butt the horse a few days back, just for being taller than him.... Besides, he's not trying to hide from the barbarian, just find a way to get close to him. Perhaps something would present itself.*

*Shrugging, he steps around to the stables, and bundles up all of his gear but the bow and a small dagger, and quickly changes to a less recognizable set of clothing, stowing his gloves as well. Surely Sargon had noted those in the few times he'd seen Tyralis. Giving the stable boy 3 silver to watch over his gear, and a stern look to dissuade any thoughts of allowing someone else to remove it, Tyralis heads in to the inn (via the stable, if possible) and takes a seat across the room.*