Misery in Mordent

[Mithreander]

Initative: 18

Baldor, seeing the mess his companions are getting him to, shakes his head and loosens his shoulders. "Lad?" he says to the human who's holding the sharif, "Could you let the man have his boom staff?"

The dwarf looks neither worried or concerned. If these men have had the same training as those in this post at home, he can easily best any of them... including the sharif.

 

[Snipehunt]

Order:

Drevan/Aesa:21
Ivar: 18
Townfolk:18
Karthak:18?
Baldor: 18
Horatio/Osric:17?
(a lot of 18s- odd. Make sure you roll separately for cohorts - doesn't matter much here. Baldor, the townsfolk, Ivar, and Karthak have already gone, I'm treating Drevan/Aesa as delaying (staring in shock), Horatio and Osric haven't gone.)


Monat stops grabbing for his pistol, and instead rubs his throat, in particular two round marks showing the faint imprint of a quickly-forming bruise where Karthak's index and thumb had grabbed Monat's throat. Monat watches warily as Ivar runs towards him, but seeing no overt threat in the tall humanoid he disregards him.

Monat considers what Karthak had to say, and listens to Baldor asking Karthak to let go of the stick. Rage and fear compete behind his eyes, and then all emotion either is eliminated through sheer force of will or is hidden though careful control of emotional display. He looks at the three guardsmen coming to his aid, and hears the same commotion the party hears from the armory - more guards, and perhaps other reinforcements, will be here shortly.

He takes the musket back from Karthak's, and bows his head slightly.

"A misunderstanding," Monat squeaks. He clears his throat, and speaks again in the commanding baritone he used earlier. "A misunderstading, then. I am sorry for your loss, but I remind you that we of Thristletown have nothing to do with your troubles, and will not be amused by such . . . actions."

He backs towards the three guardsmen, checking first to make sure he is not in the path of fire between the guardsmen and the party. At least a dozen figures quickly approach from the South, many of them obviously carrying muskets. One hangs towards the shadows and walks with an athletic grace that Ivar and Horatio recognize as similar to their own.

The door to the Upstart Raven opens a crack, a sliver of light streaming onto the dark street. and a jowly, elderly man peeks out.

 

[Thrarn Iranorn]

Seeing the guardsmen continue to advance and Monat not saying anything further, Karthak asks "Are you going to call them off?"

 

[Snipehunt]

Monat, now about 10 feet from Karthak, yells out, "Guards, stop at 20 paces." (OOC -60 feet, I figure you know, but . . .) Monat continues to walk away, stopping 30 feet from Karthak. From the discipline and easy weapon familiatiry shown by these guard, Baldor slowly realizes that the common warriors that make up the guard at home are clealry inferior to these Mordentfolk - they may even be better warriors than he.

The other townsfolk (O) are breathing heavily (OOC - I'm giving about 2 rounds between the whistle and Karthak letting Monat go - probably, no, definitely a little long, but I want to get everybody here quickly. If that annoys you, post in the OOC and I'll move them back 60 on the map).

One of the two townsfolk hanging back is an old, thin man with a long grey beard; the other is a chubby, pleasant looking fellow with red hair and a well-trimmed read beard. The older man carries a wooden rod topped by a brass orb that is imprinted with an official-looking seal. Except for the one who appears to be a rogue, none of the townsfolk look like they have any real fighting experience.

Horatio and Osric yet to go, then top of the order . . .

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H H  | | | | | |
H H  | | | | | |
H H  |[COLOR=red]S[/COLOR]| | | | | 
H H  | | | | | |
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H H  | | | |  H H
H H  | | | |  H H
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U U[COLOR=mediumturquoise] D[/COLOR]| | | |  M M 
U U [COLOR=mediumturquoise]A[/COLOR]| | | |  M M
U U| | | | |  M M
U U| | | | | |M M
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 |[COLOR=red]R[/COLOR]| | | | | | |
 | | |[COLOR=red]O|O| [/COLOR]| |A A
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H H  | | |[COLOR=red]O|O[/COLOR] A A
H H  | | | | | |
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H=house            R=Probable Rogue
U=Upstart Raven    O=Other Townsfolk
T=Temple           S=Sheriff
M=Mill             G=Guardsmen
K=Karthak          D/A=Drevan/Aesa
B=Baldor           H/O=Horatio/Osric
I=Ivar

 

[Mithreander]

Recognizing the experience of the men here as guards, he's a little shocked! Normal guardsmen with HIS kinds of skill, and more? (Baldor would be the equivalence of a 5th level fighter, and with his gear, much higher then that!) Oh, well. It's not his fight.

Seeing the door squick open and the sounds of merryment from inside, he blows out his mustache and pushes the door open. "Move aside! I'll have none of this, for all I be wanten is a pint and a smoke." he tries to push the door open and enter the building, putting his hammer on his belt.

Strength check: 17

 

[Snipehunt]

In the Upstart Raven

The jowly man reluctantly stands aside as Horatio and Osric push open the door. Just before the door slams shut behind them, Baldor rushes over and pushes it open and walks in after.

The three are hit with a blast of noise and warmth, espcially welcome after the damp cold and darkness of the night outside. Inside, the room is well lit, and a cheery fire burns in a stone fireplace set in the middle of the room. A dozen or so patrons sit at the four tables, or at the long bar that runs the back of the main room. At one table, three men and and women in their mid-twenties are singing an old folk song of a young woman who swam to sea searching for her lost Jeremy.

The man who opened the door quickly returns to the bar, where he watches the three suspiciously. He was much fatter in his youth, evidenced by long jowls hanging down both sides of his mouth, and flaps of loose skin on his arms. A middle-aged woman is carrying a tray filled with dirty clay mugs and wooden plates. Some of the patrons call out to "Duggan" for more ale, marking this old man as the person Sheriff Monat had spoken too earlier.

When the three enter, a hush falls over the room. He can hear whispered questions ("Who be these? Ever seen the likes of the 'ittle one one? T'ain't fair season, why they be comin' now?") from the patrons.

OOC - All three make a spot check. I'm ruling that Baldor went to the bar at the last initiative action, and putting him equal to Horatio and Osric. He says his piece to Karthak before he walks to the bar. These three PC's are now on a different track than the four outside - no more posts for them please until the outside is resolved, unless they want to join the action there.

 

[Brother Shatterstone]

Sir Drevan Whiteshield: (Male/Human/Fighter 4/Knight of the Crown 4) and Cohort

Drevan frowns upon the actions taking place around him as he turns around to Aesa, ”I don’t believe this really concerns us... Lets go tie the horses up together.” He pets his war horse behind the ear one less time and then grabs the rein to lead it to the stables.

 

[Thrarn Iranorn]

Karthak begins to back up towards the door to the Inn where everybody else went. "Simple misunderstanding, didn't mean no harm." If the guards let him, ,he backs into the inn without saying another word.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

Keeping one wary eye on the guards and Karthak to see what transpires, Ivar stalks away towards the inn Horatio, Osric, and Baldor entered. No fighting, least not yet. Just got here. Don't know to trust guards or not, Ivar thinks as he walks through the darkened cobbled streets. Drink, food.

 

[Snipehunt]

Ivar and Karthak both walk cautiously towards the Upstart Raven. The elderly townsman quickly runs forward, stopping between the guardsmen and the two adventurers.

"Sheriff, no need to be hasty," he says in a pleasant, carrying voice. He looks incredibly worried, much more than Karthak or Ivar thinks any native of this town should be concerned over a possible arrest of two strangers to this town. "These travellers haven't done anything wrong that I can see. We don't want to be starting any trouble, especially tonight, do we?"

A fierce expression crosses Monat's face for a brief second, then disappears into blandness.

"An apology from that surly fellow. That, and we consider this over." He calls out to Karthak, "And I am known far and wide as a man of my word."