D&D 5E T1: The Village of Hommlet (IC)

Ten Years ago, the Temple of Elemental Evil was defeated at the Battle of Emridy Meadows and the Temple itself magically sealed. Since then, the village of Hommlet, already a prosperous way point, strategically placed at the crossroads of major shipping routes and a river, has seen a modest influx of wealth and visitors as adventurers routinely use it as a base to hunt down the last vestiges of the humanoid armies gathered by the Temple and to search for those on the side of good who went missing during the battle.

Burne and Rufus, veterans of Emridy Meadows and semi-retired adventurers, have begun construction of a castle on the outskirts of Hommlet. Rufus intends to petition the King for a lordship once the castle is completed. As a result, there is a small camp of about 100 tents full of migrant laborers, brought in to work on the castle construction.

Meadowlark finds herself at the Inn of the Welcome Wench, the primary drinking establishment for the locals and inn for visitors who can afford a room.

Thadeous is at the Inn as well, having finally graduated from Burne's tutelage in the magical arts. Thadeous was one of Burne's first apprentices upon settling in Hommlet and it was while accompanying Burne to Emridy Meadows that Thadeous found the horrific tome who now secretly keeps with him at all times, on the desiccated body of a priest of the Temple of Elemental Evil.

Kestrel is at the Inn, on a mission for the Quiet Tabernacle. Her contact here is a fellow monk named Turuko, a slightly higher ranking member of the Tabernacle who has been in Hommlet for a few weeks, monitoring the progress of the castle.

Ilyana has been asked by Ostler to perform tonight as there are more visitors in the Inn than usual. Her mother is already making the rounds, taking drink orders, while Ostler tends the bar. Ostler's wife is upstairs, tucking the couple's two daughters in to bed.

Samara came to Hommlet on the request of the priest who trained her in the ways of St. Cuthbert. She is to seek out Terjon, acting canon of the village, and learn what has become of Ydey, hero of the Battle of Emridy Meadows and canoness for the village. A surly fellow named Calmert rudely instructed Samara to return in the morning, informing her that Terjon was indisposed. Thus Samara finds herself at the Inn of the Welcome Wench.

Taranis' wanderings have brought him to Hommlet and the Inn of the Welcome Wench. Taranis has met the local druid, Jaroo before, and, though they don't know each other well, the druid is friendly enough, recommending Taranis seek lodging (and direction) at the Inn.

Scrutty Sharpeye has heard rumors that there are lucrative opportunities to be had in Hommlet and thus he is at the Inn of the Welcome Wench this night.

Thain Thunderthump investigations had led him here, to Hommlet, seeking the cult of Elemental Evil that had ensnared his brother. If any information was to be had anywhere in the region, it would be here, where the Temple of Elemental Evil met its end ten years ago.

A variety of other locals and visitors fill the common room of the inn. A studious looking fellow in nondescript wizard robes, a boisterous man conducting a game of knucklebones with some members of a passing merchant caravan, a massive warrior seated with a rather skinny dark-skinned man, and another warrior busily drinking one of the locals under the table.

One of the local farmers, a scowling older gentleman, is seated at the bar talking to Ostler Gundigoot, the proprietor, when a slightly younger man, a relative of the farmer by appearance, probably his brother, comes in. The two exchange a very unpleasant look, filled with the hatred only feuding relatives can muster.

Ilyana examines herself in the mirror as she prepares for her show. Her fiery-red hair, which stretches all the way down to her shoulder blades, is held out of her face by a braid that circles across her forehead. Included in the braid are several tiny bells, intended to make noise as she moves. Her elven ears are prominently on display, with each one having a small faux-silver disc depicting the sun hanging from a lobe and a small band copper circling the folded skin halfway to the tips. Her eyes stare at her reflection with careful scrutiny, the liquid-gold irises taking in every aspect of her appearance to make certain it is just right. Including the lipstick she had chosen for this performance, which she knows she is gambling on but had to use due to her normal preference being temporarily unavailable.

Her outfit is her dancing costume. The red top is somewhat clingy, designed to help reduce motion problems while still looking good, and leaves her stomach bare while having semi-see through yellow sleeves; the bottom of the top it also designed with numerous bells along its bottom, to add noise to her dancing. Over it, as is standard for when she's in the Inn, she wears a red vest decorated with yellow depictions of people dancing; the vest also has a hidden sheath for a dagger, and one is currently secreted there. She wears three layers of skirts, each thin, which alternate between red and yellow in color; the first stops halfway down the length of the second, and the second stops midway between the first and third. The third stops just below her knees, revealing the red skin-hugging pants she wore beneath them. Each skirt also had bells on the bottom of it, and more bells could be seen on silver-looking bracelets and anklets she wore. Her shoes were slightly heeled, also red, and designed as much for dancing as for walking. To add to it, she wore a sash as a belt, covering her belt pouch and decorated with bells along one end; she could also use the sash during her dancing as a veil. She also carries her lute with her, in case she needs it for storytelling.

Her wand is also hidden on her belt, though it appears to be more a stick of wood carved with images of faeries and elves in play; it is positioned for easy draw, as she often uses it for storytelling, pointing things out or pretending it is a sword in combat stories. She smiles as she pulls it out and looks at it; the carving itself was Elven in origin, and secreted within the depictions was her name in Elven. A left-over reminder of her father as much as a key to the wild magic she controls.

She then looks herself in the mirror one more time, frowning more as she considered her appearance. It was never perfect. She made a mental note to save up money and see the local tailor about adding more personal touches to the outfit. After all, her audience deserves her best, and she is certain this is far from her best. And every bit of effort helps make the world slightly better.

Then, she shakes her head. That is something for another time. She then picks up her lute, turns, and walks toward the stage. It is time and there are spirits to lift and people who need their dreary days made all the better. She smiles to herself, the thought of making people smile with her words and singing causing her own heart to soar.

As she steps up on the stage, she sets the lute down in the middle and walks toward the edge. More people tonight, so she needs to give it even more of an effort. She then raises her arms, shaking both them and her hips so the ringing from the bells draws attention. Once she has at least some, she speaks.

"It's quite the crowd in here! And I've heard you've all worked very hard today! So, how about I work just as hard to make the day's ills fade?" She grins. "Why don't we start with a tale? And, why not a tale of this very building? Ostler gave me a wonderful account of how it came to be named, and I just can't help but share it!"

An obvious, blatant lie and she doesn't even try to hide it. But, she's just trying to entertain.

Thadeous

Nursing the now warm ale, Thadeous surveyed the tavern once again. Here and there people mingled with familiarity earned by years of friendship while others like him sat alone. Always alone, a palpable aura surrounded him built up over years of solitude and study; an unfamiliarity with people that always ensured that people were friendly but never “friends”.

Moving his dark skinned hand to the flagon he notices crumbs from his meat pie scattered over his well worn clothing. The trews in particular had suffered and it looked like someone had scattered bread for ducks over the surface of a dark blue lake. Thinking of the pie made him smile, it had been delicious and he contemplated ordering another but already his middle was straining the brown tunic he favoured and his poor belt was on its last notch. “Best not,” he thought and an almost disappointed growl came from his stomach. Chuckling, he pats it.

Some of the warriors in the corner burst out laughing and he turns his cornflower blue eyes in their direction noting their weapons and equipment. He pictured his father fitting in with these men, a huge black man he had been a gregarious giant. The only thing Thadeous had inherited from him were his dark brown skin and curled black hair, not for the first time he wondered if the great Oleg Hammerhand would have been embarrassed by his bookworm son. Shrugging, he instead cast his mind back to the feelings of warmth and safety his father had always inspired in him.

Unconsciously, his hand dropped to the leather satchel he always carried, his burden. “Another reason to keep them away,” he knew he was only fooling himself as not for a moment did he believe the wretched book to be the sources of his isolation. Cheese poked around the open flap of the satchel, the mouse as inquisitive as its master but it knew well to leave the evil book alone.

His studies were finished and he was one of Burne’s first apprentices, a time he had loved. A time spent studying, learning and as close to camaraderie as he had ever had. That time was over now, Burne had new apprentices to occupy him and Thadeous had to make his own mark in the world. Still at a loss for how to approach the task, Thadeous moved his untouched ale for the hundredth time.

“What next for me?” he thought.

Meadowlark has been chatting with a local farmer, who is surprised to learn that anyone is as interested in his pigs as he is. She's not, but she is a good listener. She's been back in town not for about five weeks -- long enough for her to doubt the Abbot's insistence that "St Cuthbert will provide the next step of your journey" which, while hopeful, was bleak recompense for the years of training she had endured for His sake away from her family. So she's drinking a pear cider, listening intently. A boy she once had a crush on, with whom she'd sang in the fields and laughed and dreamed, is flirting with the barmaid, and not recognizing her. Has she really changed that much? Certainly, she's become harder. Her posture is exceptionally correct, just as she had been shown by Mistress Soane, but it is not relaxed. She used to be relaxed, she thinks to herself.

Meadowlark's longsword is strapped to her side, and her blonde hair, hanging loose below her shoulders, casts shadows that dance across her face. "...Well the next time she gets the fever, Mr Anson, you call me," she insists.

Her armour and satchel are stored in the small room she has rented upstairs. Always ready, always bundled by the door. She keeps her room so fastidiously clean, that the owner's daughter (one of the two housekeeping staff in this small inn) has thanked her, since it gives her a few minutes to relax when she should be cleaning Meadowlark's room. When duty calls, she expects to have the time to retrieve them.

She sips again at her cider, and looks around the room, settling on the garish redhead who has begun to draw a crowd.

Thain Thunderthump

Taking a big gulp of ale and occupying a seat at one of the tables in the Inn of the Welcoming Wench, is a cheerful dwarf in chain mail decorated with stylized wrist bands and shoulder guards. His stuffed backpack, round shield and sturdy warhammer lie next to his chair in a heap; three empty tankards sit on the table.

Thain Thunderthump, a good-natured, muscular dwarf with neatly groomed red hair and beard, was going to change into his regular clothes after arriving in town, but then decided to have just a drink or two before getting a room and unpack. That was a few hours ago and although he kept saying that his own dwarvish brew is far better than this human stuff, he didn't stop drinking it.

Thain had been talking to another dwarf until the red-haired girl took the stage. After cheering at her words -- not that Thain had been working hard today, but he wasn't one to argue -- the dwarf now sits in silent anticipation of her performance, a big smile on his jolly face.

Taranis sits at a table enjoying the crowd. His long orange curls perfectly trimmed adds to his spectacular red mustache.

He still has the dust of travel about him, having just arrived in town, but is happy for a short retreat. Another of the serving girls asks to refill his ale AGAIN.

In fact its obvious he has all the women's attention but doesn't seem to acknowledge any of it.

Wearing studded leather and a deep royal purple cloak, his rapier lies on top of the table next to his ale.

He awaits the show hoping it will meet his high expectations, being quite the traveled entertainer himself, albeit not normally one for hire.

[roll0]

It isn't going to be her best performance, but she doesn't intend to do the kind of performance she normally saves for a less conservative space.

"A long time ago, a questing knight journeyed the lands with a lovely sorceress and a priest ever devout. They journeyed the land far and wide, hunting unceasingly for evils to slay, innocents to save, and treasure to tithe. But with each evil slain, each innocent save, each coin given to the church... they felt restless. Their constant life of journey and fighting was not satisfying some primal urge.

"And then one day they came across a woman kept hostage by a huge army of orcs, and they knew they must act..." Ilyana reaches down to pull out her wand. "And they overheard the orcs talking about how they were going to turn the poor woman into stew! Enraged, the knight drew his sword and leaped into battle against the orcs!"

Ilyana, holding her wand like a sword with both hand, quickly turns to her right and takes a short leap across the stage, swinging the wand down overhead like she's striking at an enemy with a large weapon. She begins to mock swordfight with people who are not even on the stage, occasionally leaning back as though just barely avoiding a blow before coming back up to continue swinging. "And he continued to fight, slaying every orc he came across with savage blows of his mighty weapon, driven on and on by the righteous fury he felt for the poor girl's plight!"

She then spins away from where she is standing, twirling as she dances backward a few steps. "And the mighty sorceress, seeing her companion in danger of being overrun, called upon her magic and unleashed the most potent spell she knew!" She then points the wand, like a wand for once, in front of her. "Explodium Badguyicus! And many orcs were engulfed in flame!"

She then takes a quick step, placing herself closer to the stage's back. "And the cleric, seeing his friend hurrying to save someone, bowed his head and prayed." She then turns to face the audience, her head lowered and hands clasped in front of her, wand tip close to her mouth. "Oh divine St. Cuthbert, please unleash your fury upon these unholy defilers..."

And then she slips the wand aside and, with a quick motion, kneels, slaps the stage hard enough her hand is stinging, and stands while saying, "And a bolt of divine fury struck the ground felled the orc army! And the maiden was saved, thanking her rescuers profusely as they freed her from her bonds!"

Ilyana begins to move towards the center of the stage. "The knight, feeling glad he did another good deed, asked, 'Who are you lass? What town do you hail from?' The maiden fluttered her lashes," and Ilyana pauses a moment to flutter her own in an exaggerated manner. "'M'lord, I'm just a welcome wench from Hommlet! I am of no import!' And the knight replied, 'A lass of no import! There can't be such a thing!' He then winked at her, and she rolled her eyes because it was the cheesiest thing she'd seen..."

ooc: Her tale continues. Pausing here so other people can get a chance to react to what's here so far, if they so choose!

Samara looks perturbed as she entered the Inn. She could not imagine what sort of business the acting canon of Hommlet could be doing that would prevent him from at least acknowledging the arrival of a fellow member of the Order.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a foul odour... odours? ... assaults her senses. The smells of beer and sweat-soaked air offends, her face curling up in a sneer. And the noise... the prattling of random strangers, the shouts of the entertainment... why do people even come to these kinds of places?

Samara wanders about, looking for a quiet corner. Finding none, she opts to sit next to a hefty looking gentleman in brown robes. "Your pardon," she says, taking a seat next to him. She uncomfortably adjusts her scale armor, clean and bereft of battle damage. She lets out an annoyed sigh as she fiddles with the armor's buckles.

At the entertainer's mention of St. Cuthbert, she perks up and snaps to attention. She lets out a disgusted sound and rolls her eyes. "This is clearly a fictional tale," she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Most of the common room goes quiet and listens to Ilyana's tale. Even the gambler keeps the noise level of his game down a bit, though the game continues.

The old farmer had heard the tale before and continued his conversation with Ostler in low tones. His brother looked about, trying to get the attention of Ilyana's mother, the only one serving drinks at the moment as the other "welcome wenches" as they are affectionately known were all in downstairs in the wine cellar getting another keg of ale. Unfortunately, the gambler chose just that moment to order a round of drinks for his opponents, no doubt to soothe their anger after having lost yet again.

The brother reluctantly stepped up to the bar and cleared his throat to get Ostler's attention. His brother glared at him, downed a shot of something rather vile smelling, and then turned to face the younger man. Ostler closed his eyes and muttered, "Here we go again."

The older man paid the barkeep no mind as he shouted loud enough to interrupt Ilyana's tale, "How dare you show your face in here, you wretched blood-traitor!"

The younger man looked his brother in the eye and shouted back, "Strong words for a man who steals from his own family!"

"I have earned everything I have. The same can't be said for you."

"It was the right thing to do and you know it!"

"I know you're a lying dog and a coward!"

At this point Ostler comes around the bar and gets between the two men, holding them both at arms length, "Percy, Filliken, please. Take it outside. Or better yet, take it to Jaroo."

Percy, the younger of the two brothers, frowns and stalks out, with one last comment, this time directed at Ostler, "Taking sides now, Ostler? Never thought it would come to this."

Ostler shakes his head, obviously regretting his words, before looking to Ilyana with pleading eyes, urging her to continue her story.

Filliken, the older brother, follows Percy out after a few moments, apparently intent on giving the younger man another piece of his mind.

Scrutty felt bold upon his arrival at the Inn, he came here seeking the company he longed for in the wild and news of his father what better place to start than from the looks of it already busy Inn.

Knowing it is always best to observes ones surroundings before seeking engagement scrutty kept to him self upon entering the bar, finding a quite pew he took a seat at the bar proper and Scrutty yellowed to the bar keep"Water good fello, and the stalest bread you have." Scrutty had heard much about the absurd prices some place on what nature readily provides.

When the barkeep returns with his order Scrutty leans forward and said's "thank you good fellow my name is Scrutty sharpeye i am new in town and come seeking to follow in the footsteps of my father, perhaps you have heard of him? He was a great hero during the fabelled battle of the meadows"

However as Scrutty waited for the barkeep to respond out of the corner of his eye he caught what could only be an angel taking to the stage, without even waiting to hear the reply he took up seat as near as possible to the performance and sat there engrossed until the commotion started taking place at the bar, at which point he approaches Ilyana and suggests "It seems your performance is going unapreciated My lady, would you like me to take care of these rude intruders, my name is Scrutty and if I may so My lady that was the finest performance i have ever seen"


Trying to go through and fix all these spelling erorrs and the general read at work is going to get me a kick in the dick in a moment. So i hope for now if you do read through this guys your apreciate my rush to upload it so my intrest was clear and i promise to edit when i get home