IG's SoW: Rescue at Rivenroar

[industrygothica]

Its early evening at the Antler and Thistle Tavern as the hearthfire starts work on a fresh log. A good-natured trio have started the night early, and are keeping the barmaid busy running back and forth to their corner table. A small pile of coins shifts from one to the next as they take turns shouting over their winning hands. The bartender dries a mug as he pretends to listen to a lone drunk sitting at the bar, and two other patrons are enjoying an ale near the front of the tavern. You can't help but overhear their conversation about the recent attack on Brindol's Hall of Great Valor and the kidnapping of several locals.

All text before the image is in character; anything after is OOC.

Tell me where your character is currently in the tavern, and feel free to talk amongst yourselves for a bit and get to know each other, both IC and otherwise.

 

[garyh]

A large dwarf in scale armor, with a greathammer strapped to his back, sits at one of the long tables along the east wall of the tavern. Nursing a mead, he mutters to himself, "It's no dwarven stout, but it'll do."

[sblock=OOC]Brega is at the second long table down from the 3-npc table[/sblock]

 

[renau1g]

An elf dressed in a fine light silver robe is playing a lute softly in the corner, watching the hearth silently, enjoying the way the flames leapt and danced, reminding him of his own dances beneath the moonlight sky.

"Ah, hopefully one day, we can return to that existence, but for now we must be vigilent." Illian thinks to himself as he strums the strings of his instrument.

He looks over at his pack of gear, glad to be out of his heavy armour and enjoying a moment of relaxation. Illian instinctively, reaches his hand to his chest, where the silver holy symbol of Correllon lies beneath his garment. Taking a sip on the watery wine, the elf leans back in his chair and observes, with a more keen interest about the kidnapping of locals and the attack on the Hall of Great Valor

Overhearing the dwarves' words, Illian stops his performance and looks up at the warrior. Raising his glass of watery wine, he says "I guess I'm not the only one who could go for a taste of home. Would you care for some company?", gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

[sblock=OOC]
Illian is currently sitting at the bottom right table, in the bottom right chair so he can take in the tavern. His gear lies directly behind him, as he wouldn't be comfortable sitting in chainmail for a long period of time, nor would it be good etiquette.

Perception (1d20+6=21) to overhear the dwarf's muttering's
[/sblock]

 

[Shayuri]

Through the door of the inn comes a far from imposing figure in a well-worn but well-made cloak with the hood up. The cloak is a mottled grey and grey-green, and under it can be glimpsed a deeply tanned leather jerkin over forest green shirt and dark brown breeches. Across the newcomer's back is a longbow in a case. From her left hip dangles a stout sword. From her right, a quiver of arrows. The padded soles of the stranger's boots make almost no noise on the inn floorboards, though the stool she sits at creaks.

She pulls back the hood of her cloak, revealing the comely features of an elfmaid; angular face, thin lips, large tilted eyes and the trademark ears. Her hair is short and scruffy, a ruddy orange color. Her skin has the kiss of time in the sun, but is fair despite that. The dust of a long journey adorns her face and clothes as well.

"Water and goat's milk," she says to the man at the bar, adding wryly, "In separate cups, please."

(Aliyas is currently sitting at the bar, about midway between the other fella and the far end from the door.)

 

[garyh]

The dwarf looks up from his mug at the elf with the lute. "Aye," he replied, "some company would be a nice distraction. My name is Brega Grimstone. What be you called?"

 

[renau1g]

Well met Master Grimstone, I am known as Illian Starsinger and I could also use some company" the elf says as he throws back his long, silver hair with his slender, pale hand.

"So are you a native of Brindol? I noticed you carry quite the implement of battle on your back, what do you need such a weapon for?" Illian asks, as he takes another small sip of his wine, managing to hold back a grimace as the sour wine hit his palate.

 

[garyh]

"I grew up in Reeve," Brega replied, "and am here in Brindol looking for good opportunities to use my hammer on any orcs, goblins and the like that need dealing with. I see," the dwarf nods to Illian's gear "that you are not un-prepared yourself?"

 

[renau1g]

Ah, yes, well that hammer is well-served for smashing their skulls. Myself, I grew up in the Blackfens, just beyond the Witchwood, where lizardfolk tribes launch raids on our villiages. All elves there are trained to use basic weapons and armor. I have found it to be a necessity in these dark times, to travel well armed and be ready to defend oneself." Illian replies.

Looking at the elf at the bar, Illian wonders if it is a fellow Tiri Kitor from Starsong Hill.

[sblock=OOC]
The Blackfens are more marsh than swamp and contain many small groups of elves, with their 'capitol' being Starsong Hill.
[/sblock]

 

[garyh]

"It seems our peoples suffer much the same fate, but in different guises," Brega replied. "My ancestral home of Kar-Zurak fell before I was forged. I long for a place to defend, now, but instead wander looking to put those who would, with their savagery, bring down our civilized lands on the defensive."

[sblock=OOC]FYI, if you didn't read Brega's background, Reeve is a human village.[/sblock]

 

[The Digger]

The door to the inn shot open and a very strange sight strode in. A halfling, about 4 foot tall with cropped brown hair.

That in itself would not normally be odd - it was the burnished plate armour that he wore which was unusual. Also the heavy shield which hung from one shoulder over a pair of javelins, and the hilt of a scimitar which could be seen over the other shoulder.

His demeanour also was unlike most halflings. Whereas most halflings seemed to be cheery and outgoing this particular individual had a calm, nay stern look about him.

He paused in the doorway and sketched the sign of an upright sword in the air, "The Blessings of Kord be upon all here", before moving to the nearest end of the bar, nodding to the nearby locals as he went.

"I'll have an ale if you please sir, it has been a long walk."

He shuffled off his pack, his shield and his javelins and laid them on the floor by the wall before turning back to wait for his drink.