Into the Dragon's Lair.

You are seated within the Gem Stone Tavern with your comrades enjoying the warmth of the hearth, the divine taste of your wine, or the ramblings of an overly-tipsy halfling. The door swings wide and a large hulking man, garbed in the colors and fittings of a very noteable Lady Kestrel Vaylan, moves into the confinements of the tavern. Some of the patrons glance away fearing they've done something wrong.. even a few scatter, but the majority stare in awe at the sheer size of the behemothed man. He ignores their slack-jawed gazes, weaving through the throng to approach the lot of you. "The Lady Vaylan requests an audience with you."


The towering guard leads you out of the tavern and into the streets where a medium sized coach is parked, the twin ivory horses pulling it stamp at the ground impatiently. Upon the front a young lad, obviously in his mid-teens, is settled toying with the leathered reigns. He nods as the group approaches, offering a toothy grin in welcome. Your escort tugs open the door and ushers you inside, following suit as he stoops over to gain enterance. Once you've all taken your seats the young boy let's out a "Yah!" and the carriage jolts into motion. "It will only be a few moments to her manor.."

Duthayer Coalhammer - dwarf paladin of Clangeddin Silverbeard

Duthayer had considered the half-mug of ale in his mug with sorrow when the summons had come. There's never a good time to interrupt a mug, went one dwarven saying, one Duthayer had found more and more true with every passing year. Ambushes, bar-fights, holy quests, noble summonings, even sleep were all unwelcome interruptions to finishing a good mug... Sighing, he had downed it in a single swallow and went to gather his things. It was a truism that when nobles called for one's presence in the middle of dinner, it was not for idle chit-chat, but for something of dire importance to their realm. Or to their gold, but Duthayer did not deal with those that held gold above their sacred vows of rulership.

He had been teased about his massive armor from time to time, called a "beet in a boiler" when he had it on, but luckily his magical haversack made it simple to carry, even in a noble's carriage. Climbing up the too-tall human-made steps to the carriage, he regarded his comrades-in-arms during their ride. That they had been summoned to deal with some danger, Duthayer didn't doubt in the least.

My father, may the heroes of old welcome him in Moradin's halls, would have gawked at the lot of them. A stranger bunch I doubt I could have made up. Someday I shall have a great bard compose a worthy epic of the lot of us, so that the Coalhammers will know that even the strange folk of the Wide World have some worth and merit, he muses.

The slender Absalom and his armored companion Lord Rath were perhaps the easiest for Duthayer to accept. The others would have surely thought him mad for saying so, but it was the truth. The necromancer had an unswerving code of honor and deep respect for his chosen god that rang true within the dwarf. The fact that his warrior friend was willing to serve beyond death was actually reminiscent of a dwarven legend. The two had had several deep theological discussions during their time together, with Absalom explaining his reasons and beliefs for raising the dead, and what his church had to say on the matter. With logic, honor, and faith, the necromancer had won the paladin's trust.

The pale and wild-eyed Arthur, on the other hand, was a chaotic a man as Duthayer had met. His unusual magics and wild fighting style were undisciplined, wild, unpredictable… and effective. The fact that Arthur had been at one with the Underdark meant that the two had been able to trade some lore on a place near to Duthayer’s heart. Few could understand the strange beauty of the lands underground unless they had lived there, and Arthur, despite the reason he had been driven there, did understand. Also he fought solidly on the side of righteousness, and had a perfectly healthy vendetta against the hated drow. Duthayer looked forward to being able to aid the young whirlwind against his foes someday.

Kuma was a particularly strange companion, man struggling to awaken the dragon blood within. He also carried a quest within him, a quest to free his people against draconic tyranny. How he could reconcile that with allowing himself to become what he might be leading his people to hate was a true paradox. The boy was a fearsome fighter, given to wild rages spiced with magic and dragon power, but Duthayer worried about him. He thought the boy would find his people unwilling or even unable to accept the uncomfortable truth he was bringing to them. The idealism he carried about would take a hard bruising, and could turn the lad to cynicism. Perhaps it was best that he remain away from them until he could learn a bit more about the reality of people’s hearts.

Brother Odis… was a frustrating friend! He had often attempted to get Duthayer to “lighten up,” as he put it, much to the dwarf’s frustration. But after a while he could see there was no malice in Odis’ humor, and he had often sweetened the dwarf’s temper after a difficult night, or been able to help him find forgiveness far sooner than if had brooded his way through it, dwarven-style. Despite his relentlessly cheerful manner, Duthayer could see Tymora in his own Sharindlar, the dwarven goddess of love, and in Haela Brightaxe, goddess of luck and joy in battle. The faces were different, perhaps, but the spirit remained the same. Here was a man who embodied his god, which was the truest form of devotion.

“So lads, do you think it’s war, theft, a terrible beast, or some threat from beyond? I can’t think of any other reason to haul us away in the middle of dinner,” Duthayer asks the others, his red, caterpilliar-like brows furrowed in thought.

Arthur stares at the guard for most of the trip, his disdain for nobles bubbling out of him as he responded to Duthayer's comment. "Come now, your assuming that the people having us summoned contain a hardworking man's sense of decency and consideration. This had better be good, for I'd hate to waste time I could spend helping real folks in need. Especially to a noble's fleeting whims."

Kuma's brows beetle together slightly as he considers the dwarf's words. He was not a man of many words, and when he spoke he tended to make his speech as well considered as possible. Though he was not above the occasional tactical deception, lies did not come easily or naturally to him. Wastes of words, more often than not. If there was anything that struck Kuma about warmlanders, it was how easily they wasted. Wasted water, food, words, paper...if there was a resource, it was a fair bet that warmlanders reaped it in plenty, and let rot what they could not consume.

He didn't hold it against them now, though it had taken getting used to. They lived according to their means. They paid for their riches by being, by and large, fat and weak. Like the cows they raised...cared for and saw to their every need, making the herd slow and stupid and easy prey, if their caretakers ever wavered.

But the exceptions were -very- exceptional, and he had found great honor fighting with some of them. The bulls of the herd, as it were. The gazelle among the sheep. It had seemed strange to him for some time that in the warmlands, those of great personal power did not always also wield control. The kings and queens were sometimes great heroes, but just as often they were the other sort; puffy and indolent. Yet somehow, these great ones, these champions who would have been chieftains among his people...they appeared where needed, did what had to be done, and moved on. They were, he realized, the caretakers. The shepherds. They guided and inspired by example, no matter who the king of the moment was. Their deeds rang through time, passed along in the writings and stories.

It was not, in the end, a bad way. Like all things, it had grown to be what it was through untold ages of trial and error, until it perfectly suited the place. It was not his way, but it was not a bad way.

So he respected his present companions greatly, each for their strengths, even if they were not his strengths. Especially if they were not. He took their questions seriously.

"Mmmm," Kuma rumbled finally. "A war, we would have heard of. Wars begin slowly, like a tide coming in. And...while I've no doubt we could catch a thief between us, I do not think we would be the first ones in mind to do it. No. I will say it is a terrible beast, or...perhaps something precious lost to darkness, needing recovery."

Brother Odis speaks in an overly loud voice, just in case the guard is hard of hearing, "War, theft, terrible beasts, threats from beyond... For the sake of this Lady Vaylan, I hope it's all of the above. Remember the last time someone interrupted Duthayer mid-drink... I wonder if the poor fellow ever found his arse again. Duthayer kicked it all the way to Rashemen."

Then in an exaggerated whisper to the guard, "Dwarves don't like to be interrupted mid-drink. It's bad for their livers... Heh, seriously though, what does Lady Vaylan want of us. Some may take offense to such withholding of basic information. Not me personally, but I can't vouch for the rest of my well respected party. You know who we are." The last sentence being a statement, not a question.

[sblock=OOC]
If needed: Diplomacy check (1d20=16) +12 = 28

Twisted, I'm ok with you doing all my rolls if you want. I find things go a lot quicker when the DM does it, not so much in this case, but definitely during combat.
[/sblock]

Absalom sat quietly in the Gem Stone as his companions regaled in their recent successes with food, drink, and tales of their past exploits. Behind him, ever-present, his "lifelong companion," Rath stood an unmoving sentinel. While some of the others where well into their third helpings of spiced meat, mulled wine, and cold ale, Absalom was still nursing his first drink. Not much of a drinker, it was his habit to only imbibe one or two drinks an evening. The tell-tale beads of perspiration that dripped of his pewter mug and the wet ring at its base told that he had been nursing this one longer than usual.

The sounds of laughter and song melted away as Absalom drifted to how he met his companions. Absalom had heard rumors that a vampire had taken residence deep within a lost Dwarven Mine outside of Daggerdale. A treacherous place said to have many traps within. So he hired an 'expert' in such things, Arthur, and sought out the fiend's resting place.
Coincidentally Duthayer, Odis, and Kuma had been charged with a similar task by Randal Morn.

After an initial misunderstanding, Duthayer looked into the men's souls, and found no evil...
Absalom had to take his word for it, for up until that point he wasn't so sure himself!
An alliance was made and after a tremendous battle, they managed to finish off the Nosferatu.

So lost in his reverie, Absalom did not notice the approach of the Brutish Man until he sensed movement from Rath, as the Minion moved to step in front of his Master.

Hopefully he ride in the carriage would be brief, as it was only of moderate size and holding several armed and armored companions certainly made for close quarters.

The Necromancer remained silent as the others mused about why they were summoned.

They should find out soon enough....

"I believe we have arrived." Darkwind said to the others as he gazed out the Cab's window.

Jargen had sat tight lipped for the majority of the short trip, narrowing eyes at the offhanded comment about the Lady wasting their time. But, it wasn't until the elder of the group spoke up that the man responded. "Rest assured, Lady Kestrel would not interrupt such an important event as a Dwarf having his meal .. for no reason." His words were most definitely laced with venom as they rolled from his tongue. The carriage had stopped now, outside Vaylan's deteriorating estate. Had the crew not known before now, they were traveling into the city called Arabel.. and by the looks of it, the city wasn't in its prime. Buildings lay in shambles, rubble and what used to be people's precious belongings littered the streets. One of the most noteable disgraces was the charred remnants of what used to be a temple of Tymora, evident by statue of the Goddess herself that too had been disfigured. Here and there townsfolk attempted to refurbish the establishments, picking up the pieces to what was obviously quite the attack upon the town.. and their lives. "She has heard such good things about you all, that she figured you would be the best to aid in her time of need and with the promise of adventure and treasure.. who wouldn‘t want the chance? As you can see, our homestead isn‘t doing as well as we would like.. and with the death of Lady Kestrel‘s husband Olaf - she just hasn‘t been in good spirits." He paused a moment, scratched at his chin and then shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll explain this all when you meet with her. Oh, thought I should set you straight on something as well.. she’s not as selfish and indulgent as you may think. I would be willing to bet that she’s less greedy than some of you.“ With that said, Jargen swings open the door and descends the stairs... leaving the door wide open for you to follow, and stands his post a few feet from the coach; awaiting to guide you into the manor to speak with this noblewoman.

Absalom harumphed as he stepped out of the carriage. He had heard of Arabel's trouble with Goblins and Orcs. Surely the Lady Lord Myrmeen Lhal had mustered enough mercenaries to drive all of the humanoids into the King's Forest. Despite his resolution to not speculate on what the noblewoman summoned them for he could not help himself.

"This place was overrun with Goblinoids at one point. The only logical conclusion I can come up with is that they may have taken something belonging to our prospective hostess and she wishes us to retrieve it."

Arthur gave the guard a dark smile as he exited the coach. He whispered to himself, just loud enough to allow the man to hear him as he passed by. "A Noble, feeling the pain of loss most commonly reserved for peasants? This trip may hold some merit after all."

Duthayer Coalhammer, dwarf paladin of Clangeddin Silverbeard

Duthayer shakes his head an the man's comment, "I meant no disrespect to the Lady," he says softly to Jargen. "What terrible things have passed here?" The question is rhetorical, as they will be learning soon enough, but there is a sad expression on the dwarf's face. He's more than ready to hear this tale of woe from the Lady's lips, and follows Jargen inside.