(Casual D&D V) The Tourne


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    (Casual D&D V) The Tourne

    (Continued from A Knight for a Pawn)

    There's a bit of old stone in the city, but most of it looks fairly recently built, or recently rebuilt. The folk are of a hearty stock, men with broad shoulders and ladies with broad hips, and generally quite tall. All human, as well, although the suspicious looks you get don't seem too mean-spirited. Guardsmen are common, as well, posted at every significant intersection of paths with more on patrol between. All bear clear insignia, and they aside, the city does indeed seem to walk unarmed.

    The merchants have all closed up shop for the evening, perhaps saving Raven an argument on the merits of finding a tavern first. There are a few small corner bars around, but these seem dark and uninviting, and in any case not large enough to accomodate your whole party together. It doesn't take much questioning, however, for the locals to point you to the city's main drinking house: They direct you to The Minotaur, which reveals itself to be a wide misshapen building, painted black on its front face but with plain brick exposed on all other sides (there are only four total, but with the awkward angles of the place it seems there should be more). Next to the front door there is a statue of a minotaur, carved from wood, painted white, and lacquered so heavily it seems almost to be stone, were it not for the rough angles with which it is shaped. Its arms are crossed, and its stance wide, but it seems less intimidating than bored.

    Inside, the bar takes up the center of the room, facing all four sides with its uneven wooden surface. There are tables scattered around it, each enough to seat four comfortably and six uncomfortably; at the far end of the room, a staircase leads to a narrow balcony area, clearly added after the building was built and far too close to the ceiling. The locals there have crouch when they do not sit, and so the folk up there at all four tables are engaged in an activity that requires much sitting: Kingsmen, of all things. It does not take Tatlock long to notice.

    Your reception is generally cold, and a few conversations trail off as a few faces turn to watch you, but it is nothing too striking. The bartender's nod is unsmiling but not unwelcoming.

    "Eve," he says, flatly, sharp eyes glancing from face to face, as if wondering who to stare down...

 

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    Oliver is glad to enter the tavern. The town and townsfolk seem sturdy and decent enough, but Raven's Way seems more and more appealing. The old man is tired. And sore. He hands the horses and various draft animals off to the stable hand with a guess at what passes for a generous tip in these parts.

    Inside The Minotaur he offers himself up to the bartender's hairy eyeball. "Eve, sir. A round for my companions and dinner and rooms as well." He purses his lips and moves closer to the bar, the low-grade panic still working at him as his hands flicker through their patterns and do not find the comfort of secret weapons.

    He lowers his voice, "Any news of the Sails?"

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    The bartender glares momentarily, seeming to look for some hidden motive, and finding none, answers the question. "Hear they moved into the Cradle, on Eivanrach. They're holding the coast of Bethel pretty tight, but still haven't entered the sea."

    A bald, round-faced man in at the later end of the middle of his life turns, made friendly by both drink and the chance to voice an opinion. "King Tjaden may-he-reign-long made pronouncement 'bout three or four days ago, warning we'd block passage if they tried. They ain't pulled back yet, but I reckon they will. Even if they take Sudor or Valsport, they've got to get their ships there for it to mean anything. Their fleet couldn't cover half that distance against ours -- not with a blind man's luck."

    Meanwhile, the bartender fills and places a row of six thick steins across the table, filling each with a light, sweet mead. "That's thirty cops," he announces, a bit too affirmatively. "Talk to Casse across the way for rooms. We've got none here."
    Last edited by Guilt Puppy; Monday, 12th March, 2007 at 07:22 AM. Reason: Drinks & rooms

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    Fendric and Hiritus enter the bar, arriving at the bartender just as Oliver answers him.

    "I should Send, although I know not if the Radiant Light will Bless my message for such a distance, Brother. Perhaps Anders Peltram or Brother Aramil before reverie?"

    "We should look at the map to see if you're within range of even those settlements. Is it as the crow flies, or as the acolyte walks?"

    "I could not be sure, Brother Hiritus, but in any case, that would be for later," replies Fendric.

    As the bartender doles out drinks, meals and keys, Fendric pulls a gold piece from his pocket, and pushes it over to Oliver.

    "Will that satisfy our share, Oliver?"
    Recovering PBP Fiend

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    Sense Motive DC 10:
    Spoiler:
    The bartender takes brief but definite notice as Fendric passes the gold to Oliver, and his demeanor becomes quickly more servile...


    A bit abruptly, the bartender waves over a table-maid whose cheeks look about twenty years older than her waist. "Eltha, run across the way and ask six rooms for our guests," he says in a smooth voice.

    (Re: distances, I don't see any range restriction on Sending. For reference, though, it's about 100 miles to either Valsport or Despia, as the crow flies.)

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    My communities:

    Cylantro : Female Human

    Quote Originally Posted by dpdx
    "Nerull's Bunions! They are certainly taking long enough! We are as vulnerable here as we would be in that cave!

    Well, perhaps not.

    Cylantro! That spell you do, the one about the small bungelow for the night, is it available to you once per night?
    "

    Before Cylantro can answer, the guards signal the group forward. Hiritus disappears with Justice behind a tree, and returns alone to join the others into the cellar. He is carrying Fendric's armor and shield, plus his own.
    As the companions travel into town, the young woman nods. "It can be if I have it prepared. I'll keep it prepared each day just in case." With this last bit she smiles weakly.

    As they make arrangements she wonders what tomorrow will bring.

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    Raven secures a table in the corner, preferring to sit with his back against the wall. His daggers rest at his side, with an additional one in the sheath in his boot.
    Last edited by DrZombie; Tuesday, 13th March, 2007 at 10:20 AM.
    *Doghead* "You're an idiot, Dr Z."

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    (Sorry if I wasn't clear -- simple, light weapons are okay, but martial or non-light weapons, such as the shortsword, would get refused. Would this have changed Raven's mind about coming into the city? Or would he have attempted to smuggle the weapon in?)

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    (OOC : sorry, my mistake, he'll have a dagger or two)
    *Doghead* "You're an idiot, Dr Z."

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    Oliver leans against the bar, gratefully, glad of some rest. He slouches onto a stool, feeling keenly the lack of armor on his companions, everything seems just a little more dangerous. He's glad to have been able to keep his leathers. The old man nods thanks to the bar tender for the news.

    He supresses a smile at the effect Fendric's poor grasp on the local economy has on the barkeep. He raises his eyebrows at the fat coin, and pushes it away, "My thanks, but that will not be necessary, Brother Fendric," he glances around the room, seeing who else might have taken note of the coin, hoping that any who were paying attention might think twice about conning money from a man of the cloth.

    "Thanks. Good rooms, across the way there?" He grins and then sighs, shaking his head ruefully, "The world is coming apart at the seams." He catches Raven's eye from the man's table in the corner, indicating that he'd be sitting at the bar for a bit, chatting with the bartender.

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