jayaint
First Post
Two adventurers on a lengthy mission stop to rest at a riverside inn. Their world (and their mission) is about to get a whole lot more complicated. The party grows.
Introduction:
The two figures opened the door to the inn and looked around wearily. The front room seemed to yawn with the light from the setting sun weaving its way through uneven glass windows. Empty. They could hear papers being shuffled in the next room through a small ledge and window in the wall. The shorter of the two let the door close behind him and removed his heavy, tightly wrapped pack. The other walked slowly up to the counter and cleared his throat.
Bhannimann Bhartif was hunched deeply over his ledger when the stranger cleared his throat. He nearly spilled his bottle of ink as he jumped up in surprise. He reset his pen and ink nervously as he rose to greet the visitors.
“Hello there, travelers,” he intoned cheerfully. It was a rehearsed practiced cheer, as the one thing Bhannimann was not, was cheery. Especially these days, with no business. He eyed his inkwell of red ink ruefully.
“Greetings.” The man standing at the counter was tired, it was easy to see, but there was something deep within him that shone outward, some kind of power or presence that unnerved the innkeeper. Tall and thin would suffice to describe him if not for the tarnished aura that peeked out. His shock-white hair seemed out of place on so young a face. His voice was soothing, with no accent tripping his words.
“We are looking for a room for the night,” he said.
“Well,” replied Bhannimann sourly, forgetting his cheer, “if you were looking for twelve rooms, that would be better, but one is a fine place to start.”
The tall stranger laughed, as did his shorter companion.
“Business is that slow?” the lanky one asked.
“Look around you, traveler. The seats at the tables are empty, and the tables are well polished and clean. Even the floor is cleaned to a shine. There used to be days where I forgot what color the floor was it became so trampled with boot scuffs and mud. But no longer.” Bhannimann sighed heavily and leaned on the counter.
With a flourish, the tall one replied, “Well, then, innkeeper; we shall buy your twelve rooms tonight. I cannot say the same for tomorrow night or the night after. But for now, let the two of us rent your inn.”
Bhannimann was stunned. He tried to roughly calculate how much money that was, realizing it was more than he had made since the last full-moon. He stammered out the total, and the men opened up a small pouch and set down the exact amount in gold coins.
The innkeeper nervously scooped up the gold, and plunked it behind the counter, in a dark desk drawer. He went around and opened the door to the Great Room, and beckoned the travelers to follow him up the stairs. Upon reaching the third story, Bhannimann told the men that it contained only two rooms, both large and spacious with pitched and vaulted ceilings. Since they were so kind, and the place was empty, he offered the rooms to them. They asked for hot water for cleaning, and promised that they would be down in time for a late supper.
------
It was little more than an hour after Bhannimann had delivered the hot water up the stairs to the companions that they arrived back downstairs looking refreshed, and hungry. One of the large round tables in the Great Room had been laid with what amounted to a feast. Bhannimann stood proudly before it, and gestured with gold-induced cheer towards it as the two travelers entered the room.
They ate in silence, enjoying the meal that had been prepared. The innkeeper hovered over them, attempting to indulge their every beck and call, though there were few needs left unattended to.
The taller man with the bright head of hair drained the last of his goblet and placed it on the table. He slid his chair back, allowing his body to drape loosely over the arms, relaxing. He gestured for Bhannimann to sit down and relax himself. Nervously, the host let himself sit upon a chair, seeming as though it could give way at any moment.
“Would you be so kind,” asked the innkeeper, “to tell me a bit about yourselves? You are quite a curiosity to me.”
The shorter fellow, still devouring the last piece of meat on his plate, looked up quickly at his companion. He had dark skin, and smoldering dark eyes that were hidden deeply under ragged black eyebrows. His beard was coal black and hung below the level of the table. An astonished Bhannimann thought, “It can’t be. He looks as though he is a dwarf, but he’s at least my height.” He had not paid him any close attention earlier.
The taller traveler gave the bearded man an easy sideways look and assured their host that he would do just that.
“My name is Onya. It is short for something much longer and harder for our common tongues to pronounce. I travel with my friend Thyr, which is short for Thyrryn, which is short for something much longer and harder for any tongue to pronounce.” With a meat filled mouth, the other traveler snorted with laughter.
“What would you like to know?”
Bhannimann absently rubbed his jowl-heavy face while he considered what questions to ask. He finally sniffed loudly and asked, “Where are you all from?”
Onya smiled and answered again for the both of them, “We are both lost souls. Outcasts, if you will. I was separated from my inland family during the Expansion War, while I was just a boy. I have yet to stop moving since, always going from place to place and king to king, without ever really living anywhere. I have been lucky to see more of the world than most men.”
He trailed off for a moment, obviously revisiting some part of his past that was his alone. Then he continued, “Thyr travels with me out of the kindness of his heart and the hardness of others, both of which are in abundance. You see, he is a half-breed. You will never see a taller dwarf nor an uglier human.”
Thyr laughed again, this time with a mouth full of ale, splattering the table with its spray. Sheepishly, he wiped down his section of the table with his glove. Onya chuckled in response. Bhannimann stared at the two of them in a daze, confounded by the story being told.
He finally spoke up after a moment when he realized Onya had finished. “So an orphan and a half-breed with enough gold to rent out an inn. One doesn’t often hear a tale such as this. Well, not often from the mouth of the orphan or the half-breed, anyways.”
“Oh, I am not an orphan, innkeeper,” Onya said with a smile, “I know exactly where my parents live and how their lives revolve. They have, since my separation from them, relocated and I keep very close tabs on them.”
Bhannimann replied quickly, thinking of the gold his quick tongue could cost him, “They must have been relieved to know you were still alive. Please understand, I meant no offense.”
The lanky man picked up the last piece of meat from his plate and chewed it thoughtfully, before responding. “No offense taken, Mr. Bhartif. None at all. But they do not know I am alive. You would be surprised, innkeeper, at how easy it is to keep tabs on someone without them knowing.”
There was a short period of silence between the three at that point. Thyr finished his plate and tankard, and gave a low vow of thanks to some barely audible deity. Onya watched Bhannimann sit restlessly, the urge to clean the table apparently getting the best of his nervousness. He rose and began picking up serving dishes, trays and pitchers.
Onya spoke again, “Mr. Bhartif, we are glad to be here. Your inn is a comfortable and safe place for us to rest and regain our strength. We are adventurers, Bhannimann. Probably the first this part of the world has seen in some time. And, mind you, hopefully the last. We are making our way back to your port city, following the trail of the river outside your door that sustains your livelihood.”
Bhannimann had gently replaced all the things he picked up, and sat back down in his chair, mouth open.
Onya spoke on, his voice even and steady, “Innkeeper, we have seen and done great things. Though I am human, I am less like you than you might imagine. I am a mage of high standing with the overseas Imperial throne. I am also a cleric of the god of magic. His divine power flows through me, even now, as we speak.”
“Thyr is a warrior of his tribe, though an outcast as well. He has stood alone against foes more powerful than you might possibly imagine. I rescued him from certain death, and though I did not ask it of him, that is why he travels with me to this day. You have nothing to fear from us, Bhannimann Bhartif. But I wanted you to know who sleeps under your roof this night, lest you wonder and come up with your own stories.”
Bhannimann looked back and forth between the two men. He was obviously speechless. He had heard tales come from upriver about a group of travelers engaged in the “doing-of-great-deeds”, but these two hardly seemed to fit the part. He nodded slowly, and rose again, beginning to clear the table for a second time.
“Dessert, gentlemen?” he asked.
Introduction:
The two figures opened the door to the inn and looked around wearily. The front room seemed to yawn with the light from the setting sun weaving its way through uneven glass windows. Empty. They could hear papers being shuffled in the next room through a small ledge and window in the wall. The shorter of the two let the door close behind him and removed his heavy, tightly wrapped pack. The other walked slowly up to the counter and cleared his throat.
Bhannimann Bhartif was hunched deeply over his ledger when the stranger cleared his throat. He nearly spilled his bottle of ink as he jumped up in surprise. He reset his pen and ink nervously as he rose to greet the visitors.
“Hello there, travelers,” he intoned cheerfully. It was a rehearsed practiced cheer, as the one thing Bhannimann was not, was cheery. Especially these days, with no business. He eyed his inkwell of red ink ruefully.
“Greetings.” The man standing at the counter was tired, it was easy to see, but there was something deep within him that shone outward, some kind of power or presence that unnerved the innkeeper. Tall and thin would suffice to describe him if not for the tarnished aura that peeked out. His shock-white hair seemed out of place on so young a face. His voice was soothing, with no accent tripping his words.
“We are looking for a room for the night,” he said.
“Well,” replied Bhannimann sourly, forgetting his cheer, “if you were looking for twelve rooms, that would be better, but one is a fine place to start.”
The tall stranger laughed, as did his shorter companion.
“Business is that slow?” the lanky one asked.
“Look around you, traveler. The seats at the tables are empty, and the tables are well polished and clean. Even the floor is cleaned to a shine. There used to be days where I forgot what color the floor was it became so trampled with boot scuffs and mud. But no longer.” Bhannimann sighed heavily and leaned on the counter.
With a flourish, the tall one replied, “Well, then, innkeeper; we shall buy your twelve rooms tonight. I cannot say the same for tomorrow night or the night after. But for now, let the two of us rent your inn.”
Bhannimann was stunned. He tried to roughly calculate how much money that was, realizing it was more than he had made since the last full-moon. He stammered out the total, and the men opened up a small pouch and set down the exact amount in gold coins.
The innkeeper nervously scooped up the gold, and plunked it behind the counter, in a dark desk drawer. He went around and opened the door to the Great Room, and beckoned the travelers to follow him up the stairs. Upon reaching the third story, Bhannimann told the men that it contained only two rooms, both large and spacious with pitched and vaulted ceilings. Since they were so kind, and the place was empty, he offered the rooms to them. They asked for hot water for cleaning, and promised that they would be down in time for a late supper.
------
It was little more than an hour after Bhannimann had delivered the hot water up the stairs to the companions that they arrived back downstairs looking refreshed, and hungry. One of the large round tables in the Great Room had been laid with what amounted to a feast. Bhannimann stood proudly before it, and gestured with gold-induced cheer towards it as the two travelers entered the room.
They ate in silence, enjoying the meal that had been prepared. The innkeeper hovered over them, attempting to indulge their every beck and call, though there were few needs left unattended to.
The taller man with the bright head of hair drained the last of his goblet and placed it on the table. He slid his chair back, allowing his body to drape loosely over the arms, relaxing. He gestured for Bhannimann to sit down and relax himself. Nervously, the host let himself sit upon a chair, seeming as though it could give way at any moment.
“Would you be so kind,” asked the innkeeper, “to tell me a bit about yourselves? You are quite a curiosity to me.”
The shorter fellow, still devouring the last piece of meat on his plate, looked up quickly at his companion. He had dark skin, and smoldering dark eyes that were hidden deeply under ragged black eyebrows. His beard was coal black and hung below the level of the table. An astonished Bhannimann thought, “It can’t be. He looks as though he is a dwarf, but he’s at least my height.” He had not paid him any close attention earlier.
The taller traveler gave the bearded man an easy sideways look and assured their host that he would do just that.
“My name is Onya. It is short for something much longer and harder for our common tongues to pronounce. I travel with my friend Thyr, which is short for Thyrryn, which is short for something much longer and harder for any tongue to pronounce.” With a meat filled mouth, the other traveler snorted with laughter.
“What would you like to know?”
Bhannimann absently rubbed his jowl-heavy face while he considered what questions to ask. He finally sniffed loudly and asked, “Where are you all from?”
Onya smiled and answered again for the both of them, “We are both lost souls. Outcasts, if you will. I was separated from my inland family during the Expansion War, while I was just a boy. I have yet to stop moving since, always going from place to place and king to king, without ever really living anywhere. I have been lucky to see more of the world than most men.”
He trailed off for a moment, obviously revisiting some part of his past that was his alone. Then he continued, “Thyr travels with me out of the kindness of his heart and the hardness of others, both of which are in abundance. You see, he is a half-breed. You will never see a taller dwarf nor an uglier human.”
Thyr laughed again, this time with a mouth full of ale, splattering the table with its spray. Sheepishly, he wiped down his section of the table with his glove. Onya chuckled in response. Bhannimann stared at the two of them in a daze, confounded by the story being told.
He finally spoke up after a moment when he realized Onya had finished. “So an orphan and a half-breed with enough gold to rent out an inn. One doesn’t often hear a tale such as this. Well, not often from the mouth of the orphan or the half-breed, anyways.”
“Oh, I am not an orphan, innkeeper,” Onya said with a smile, “I know exactly where my parents live and how their lives revolve. They have, since my separation from them, relocated and I keep very close tabs on them.”
Bhannimann replied quickly, thinking of the gold his quick tongue could cost him, “They must have been relieved to know you were still alive. Please understand, I meant no offense.”
The lanky man picked up the last piece of meat from his plate and chewed it thoughtfully, before responding. “No offense taken, Mr. Bhartif. None at all. But they do not know I am alive. You would be surprised, innkeeper, at how easy it is to keep tabs on someone without them knowing.”
There was a short period of silence between the three at that point. Thyr finished his plate and tankard, and gave a low vow of thanks to some barely audible deity. Onya watched Bhannimann sit restlessly, the urge to clean the table apparently getting the best of his nervousness. He rose and began picking up serving dishes, trays and pitchers.
Onya spoke again, “Mr. Bhartif, we are glad to be here. Your inn is a comfortable and safe place for us to rest and regain our strength. We are adventurers, Bhannimann. Probably the first this part of the world has seen in some time. And, mind you, hopefully the last. We are making our way back to your port city, following the trail of the river outside your door that sustains your livelihood.”
Bhannimann had gently replaced all the things he picked up, and sat back down in his chair, mouth open.
Onya spoke on, his voice even and steady, “Innkeeper, we have seen and done great things. Though I am human, I am less like you than you might imagine. I am a mage of high standing with the overseas Imperial throne. I am also a cleric of the god of magic. His divine power flows through me, even now, as we speak.”
“Thyr is a warrior of his tribe, though an outcast as well. He has stood alone against foes more powerful than you might possibly imagine. I rescued him from certain death, and though I did not ask it of him, that is why he travels with me to this day. You have nothing to fear from us, Bhannimann Bhartif. But I wanted you to know who sleeps under your roof this night, lest you wonder and come up with your own stories.”
Bhannimann looked back and forth between the two men. He was obviously speechless. He had heard tales come from upriver about a group of travelers engaged in the “doing-of-great-deeds”, but these two hardly seemed to fit the part. He nodded slowly, and rose again, beginning to clear the table for a second time.
“Dessert, gentlemen?” he asked.
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And, yes, a little telepathy/etc going on. I have been dreading getting a rogue's gallery call for characters because one of my players and I came up with these characters without so much as rolling one die or picking one feat. They are just characters in the fictional and broadest sense of the word. We both brainstorm plot ideas and then "act out" with our characters in mind how each scene would happen. Its really not a campagin log at all, but truly a "story" hour. 
