The setting is Rolf's Barrel, a reputable inn in Weiland's downtown. The interior is awash in a warm glow from the lanterns suspended on the walls. A cloud of hazy sound settles over you; composed of light-hearted folk music played over the buzz of multiple conversations merging into one. Its crowded, but you've managed to get your very own table.
An elf sidles up to your table. "Any room for one more? I've been traveling a long-ways, and I just want to stop, catch my breath, have a drink, before I depart again."
OOC: this is the session zero; feel free to talk amongst yourselves and ask the elf about the sociopolitical situation and any other questions you may have about the world. Once you decide you're done, the ball can begin rolling. Also feel free to use this to flesh out your background even more and see where it rests in relation to the world.
Agar looked up with a smile he did not feel. "Sure! Have a seat, I'll gladly buy you a drink." He lied with casual ease that comes from years of practice. Others may overlook such opportunities when gathering intel, trying to zero in on the most likely source, but Agar knew from experience it often paid off to cast a wide net. A few gold spent on a stranger elf might not lead to any valuable info, yet any society was like a fabric - everyone was connected. And since his country was ultimately paying the bills, why not be generous? He gestured to catch the nearest waiter's eye.
"Sounds like you've come a long way, and have a long way to go. I just arrived, myself. Agar's my name, what's yours?"
Ludovico is a pale man in his mid 30s with dark hair going prematurely gray. A rake’s mustache and curl in his hair give him a charming, roguish air, but the lines on his face seem to indicate a certain amount of starvation has been a regular occurrence. His fingers are long, and meticulously clean despite the rest of him looking a bit like he sleeps in a gutter. He’s wearing a high collar, form fitting leather jacket unzipped. A (formerly) white collared button down shirt and a pair of dirty wool pants are beneath the jacket.
He looks up at the elf speaking with a bit of surprise, and scooches over.
"Sounds like you've come a long way, and have a long way to go. I just arrived, myself. Agar's my name, what's yours?"
The elf beams down back at him and takes a seat. "I'm Helgi. Its been a long way on the road -- I just came from Jedholme. And from there, I came from Dunholme, and from there I came from Washen, passing through the Dunholme gate. And after a quick stop, I'm heading to Westin. Where'd you come from?"
An elf sitting at one end of the table, his back to a wall, looks up as another at his table offered the newcomer elf a seat. Tren is a bulky elf, with raven-black hair and cool gray eyes. He wears a set of silvery armor and has a glaive leaning against the wall near his chair. He gives a nod to the new elf, but doesn't ask any question as the other takes a seat with them. Tren continues to sip from the ale in front of him, taking this time to just relax and enjoy a nice tavern, he has earned it after all, having just arrived back in town after an extended trip working as a bodyguard. He wears the symbol of his mercenary company, a red hand on a white background. His armor and gear are well cared for and he seems like someone who is ever alert and able to take on whatever comes.
A cloaked figure leaned forward from the corner, holding his own mug in front of him. “It sounds as if you covered a great distance. I am a wanderer as well and seek knowledge of the roads” Broad-shouldered and swarthy, Bardos had dark features, a short beard, and a toothy, unsettling smile. “Did you run into any dangers during your journey? There are dark souls and darker creatures about in the wilds”
Outside the Rolf's Barrel, a heavily-clothed figured sits against the tavern's front wall. Most pay him no mind, a few drop a small coin in his cup as they pass. To casual observers, he seems a vagabond, or possibly a diseased beggar, taken to spend the night wherever his legs fall. Atop his shoulder, a raven sits perched, giving a quark to passersby and a louder caw to more generous souls.
Within the tavern, a gaunt-looking man sits at a table of other dangerous sorts. A large cloak envelops most of his form, and a voluminous hood hides the social obscenity that is his scarred visage. A mouthy, boisterous elf had just approached the table to talk of travels and sights. The figure split a grin, showing a few broken teeth on one side. However, an old burn across the right side of his face twisted the smile into a mockery of joy. "Such places we've all been," he grumbled to those who'd listen, "Best to be careful, though. People get lost in the world all the time."
The haggard elf glared at the stranger from within his hood, a pair of milky-white eyes showing through the shade. Though he was conscious and present, most of his attention was fixed on the observations of a certain raven outside.
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Seemingly oblivious to Bardos' intimidating presence, Helgi chatters on with a childlike enthusiasm, recounting his travels.
"Well, I won't get too far behind, but Washen to Dunholme was very safe. A little too safe for my liking -- heavily guarded, with constant stops, posts, and inspections. Both sides of the gate. (OOC: the gate he is referring to is a "soft zone" where one can easily pass through the two dimensions.) Not much to report about the roads to Jedholme, but I ran into a little bit of trouble on the way to here. Just a few bandits, a few boors, nothing I couldn't handle, and likely, nothing you all couldn't either. Just a little bumpy."
ooc: any knowledge Agar might have about the elven settlements. He'd be headed for the capital if they have such things.
Agar was used to concealing his power, for obvious reasons. "Me, I'm a city boy. I'm not used to facing that sort of trouble on my own. Back home, when I'd travel, it would usually be as part of a merchant caravan, with armed guards. But this time the boss sent me alone - said guards would just alarm people and make me a target." He shrugged eloquently. "Go figure. Maybe I'll just tag along with you, eh?"
The elf grins sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders.
"No can do, buddy. I've got my own thing to do. Boss specifically said to come alone. If you want, though, I can hook you up with some various other guys who'd be more than happy to have more hands."
OOC: Weiland is the capital of the Weiland, more or less, and almost anything you need can be bought here, barring extremely rare items or regional goods. Agar knows that the curent lord of the city of Weiland, Jarl Hathar Sigurdsson, is currently out on an unspecified mission. Traffic in and out Weiland is also ramping up, in preparation for Saints Day, a national holiday celebrated and sponsored by the Order of the Crimson, one of the several knightly orders of the Weiland. Prices are increasing, but so are stocks, and many rare and otherwise unobtainable goods will be sold in the days leading up.
"Sounds like you earned yourself a drink then." Tren tells the elf with a nod. He waves a server over and buys the elf a drink of his choice. He also gets a refill for himself, leaning back in his chair as he drinks. "Any other news from abroad?" he asks once the elf has a chance to take a drink or two.
"Not much to report, except that you should really buy stuff quick. I'm faster than most, but the floodgates will be opened for all the tourists and merchants for Saints Day. You'd also do well to book up the last few places left in town, if you're looking to stay. And on another note, lets keep this between the eight of us here, but you wanna stay away from Theorr until Saints Day is over. Heard from a few buddies that some of their lords have got it in their heads that Saints Day, of all days, would be a great day to launch an attack. I don't think they'll get into the Weiland, but they may try to pick off some stragglers caught in their territory. So look after yourselves. Strength in numbers isn't really strength anymore when you're up against a whole raiding party."
Bardos leans back in his chair and takes another drink. “Thanks for the heads up. I have not spent much time in Theorr. What cause have they to attack the Weiland, especially on Saints Day?” he asks without displaying much concern or enthusiasm.
"Attacking on a holiday..." He shook his head. "Violence is bad for business - unless violence is their business. It's good to hear they probably won't make it here. Might derail my mission. I need to try to meet with the powers that be, here..." Agar trailed off as he checked out the others at the table, while trying to still see Helgi out of the corner of his eye, gauging his reaction. "... I'm supposed to start setting up a business venture there."
Bardos leans back in his chair and takes another drink. “Thanks for the heads up. I have not spent much time in Theorr. What cause have they to attack the Weiland, especially on Saints Day?” he asks without displaying much concern or enthusiasm.
"A spiritual victory. Unlike here in the Weiland, where all faiths are accepted, in Theorr, they worship only the Land itself. To seize a victory -- no matter how small -- would be in their eyes a triumph over the traitorous worshipers of false gods. Not to mention the existing conflicts between Theorr and Weiland -- an attack would drive away the crowds and be disastrous for business. Of course, I doubt they'd have the mettle to do it. Sure, the stakes are higher now, but the roads are getting increasingly more well defended."
"So I understand that the Jarl is out of town? Has been for some time? Who's in charge then?" He'd need to figure out some way of getting in touch with them.
Grishkar cants his head slightly toward Agar, blindly speaking to the voice, "Everyone sees conflict as a bad thing. You must try looking at positives instead. Try to see the silver linings and opportunities present. A few merchants and celebrants may have a hard time from it all, but think of the other enterprises that could flourish. Smithies, mercenary companies, and those of other creative pursuits could make gains." The elf's cocky, scarred grin split once more, "A friend once told me, 'If life gives you nothing but shit, make bricks and eventually you'll have a house'."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Ludovico barks out a single “Ha!” at this bit regarding bricks, and houses. “I like that. I’ve not heard that turn of phrase before, but it certainly is a familiar concept.”
“Bah, ” Bardos snorts. “I heard the elven gods are dead. I place no faith in the divine, where were they when...” Bardo trailed off. With a grunt, he regains his thoughts “I also care little about quarrels between petty local lords over land, gods, or other slights" He glances over at Grishkar "no matter who may benefit. Tell me friend," he leans forward to Helgi and speaks in a conspiratorial tone, “you are well traveled, what do you know of the name Cleron? I hear nothing but whispers in the wind."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
The setting is Rolf's Barrel, a reputable inn in Weiland's downtown. The interior is awash in a warm glow from the lanterns suspended on the walls. A cloud of hazy sound settles over you; composed of light-hearted folk music played over the buzz of multiple conversations merging into one. Its crowded, but you've managed to get your very own table.
An elf sidles up to your table. "Any room for one more? I've been traveling a long-ways, and I just want to stop, catch my breath, have a drink, before I depart again."
OOC: this is the session zero; feel free to talk amongst yourselves and ask the elf about the sociopolitical situation and any other questions you may have about the world. Once you decide you're done, the ball can begin rolling. Also feel free to use this to flesh out your background even more and see where it rests in relation to the world.
"h"
Agar looked up with a smile he did not feel. "Sure! Have a seat, I'll gladly buy you a drink." He lied with casual ease that comes from years of practice. Others may overlook such opportunities when gathering intel, trying to zero in on the most likely source, but Agar knew from experience it often paid off to cast a wide net. A few gold spent on a stranger elf might not lead to any valuable info, yet any society was like a fabric - everyone was connected. And since his country was ultimately paying the bills, why not be generous? He gestured to catch the nearest waiter's eye.
"Sounds like you've come a long way, and have a long way to go. I just arrived, myself. Agar's my name, what's yours?"
Ludovico is a pale man in his mid 30s with dark hair going prematurely gray. A rake’s mustache and curl in his hair give him a charming, roguish air, but the lines on his face seem to indicate a certain amount of starvation has been a regular occurrence. His fingers are long, and meticulously clean despite the rest of him looking a bit like he sleeps in a gutter. He’s wearing a high collar, form fitting leather jacket unzipped. A (formerly) white collared button down shirt and a pair of dirty wool pants are beneath the jacket.
He looks up at the elf speaking with a bit of surprise, and scooches over.
Paladin - warforged - orange
The elf beams down back at him and takes a seat. "I'm Helgi. Its been a long way on the road -- I just came from Jedholme. And from there, I came from Dunholme, and from there I came from Washen, passing through the Dunholme gate. And after a quick stop, I'm heading to Westin. Where'd you come from?"
"h"
An elf sitting at one end of the table, his back to a wall, looks up as another at his table offered the newcomer elf a seat. Tren is a bulky elf, with raven-black hair and cool gray eyes. He wears a set of silvery armor and has a glaive leaning against the wall near his chair. He gives a nod to the new elf, but doesn't ask any question as the other takes a seat with them. Tren continues to sip from the ale in front of him, taking this time to just relax and enjoy a nice tavern, he has earned it after all, having just arrived back in town after an extended trip working as a bodyguard. He wears the symbol of his mercenary company, a red hand on a white background. His armor and gear are well cared for and he seems like someone who is ever alert and able to take on whatever comes.
A cloaked figure leaned forward from the corner, holding his own mug in front of him. “It sounds as if you covered a great distance. I am a wanderer as well and seek knowledge of the roads” Broad-shouldered and swarthy, Bardos had dark features, a short beard, and a toothy, unsettling smile. “Did you run into any dangers during your journey? There are dark souls and darker creatures about in the wilds”
Outside the Rolf's Barrel, a heavily-clothed figured sits against the tavern's front wall. Most pay him no mind, a few drop a small coin in his cup as they pass. To casual observers, he seems a vagabond, or possibly a diseased beggar, taken to spend the night wherever his legs fall. Atop his shoulder, a raven sits perched, giving a quark to passersby and a louder caw to more generous souls.
Within the tavern, a gaunt-looking man sits at a table of other dangerous sorts. A large cloak envelops most of his form, and a voluminous hood hides the social obscenity that is his scarred visage. A mouthy, boisterous elf had just approached the table to talk of travels and sights. The figure split a grin, showing a few broken teeth on one side. However, an old burn across the right side of his face twisted the smile into a mockery of joy. "Such places we've all been," he grumbled to those who'd listen, "Best to be careful, though. People get lost in the world all the time."
The haggard elf glared at the stranger from within his hood, a pair of milky-white eyes showing through the shade. Though he was conscious and present, most of his attention was fixed on the observations of a certain raven outside.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Seemingly oblivious to Bardos' intimidating presence, Helgi chatters on with a childlike enthusiasm, recounting his travels.
"Well, I won't get too far behind, but Washen to Dunholme was very safe. A little too safe for my liking -- heavily guarded, with constant stops, posts, and inspections. Both sides of the gate. (OOC: the gate he is referring to is a "soft zone" where one can easily pass through the two dimensions.) Not much to report about the roads to Jedholme, but I ran into a little bit of trouble on the way to here. Just a few bandits, a few boors, nothing I couldn't handle, and likely, nothing you all couldn't either. Just a little bumpy."
"h"
ooc: any knowledge Agar might have about the elven settlements. He'd be headed for the capital if they have such things.
Agar was used to concealing his power, for obvious reasons. "Me, I'm a city boy. I'm not used to facing that sort of trouble on my own. Back home, when I'd travel, it would usually be as part of a merchant caravan, with armed guards. But this time the boss sent me alone - said guards would just alarm people and make me a target." He shrugged eloquently. "Go figure. Maybe I'll just tag along with you, eh?"
The elf grins sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders.
"No can do, buddy. I've got my own thing to do. Boss specifically said to come alone. If you want, though, I can hook you up with some various other guys who'd be more than happy to have more hands."
OOC: Weiland is the capital of the Weiland, more or less, and almost anything you need can be bought here, barring extremely rare items or regional goods. Agar knows that the curent lord of the city of Weiland, Jarl Hathar Sigurdsson, is currently out on an unspecified mission. Traffic in and out Weiland is also ramping up, in preparation for Saints Day, a national holiday celebrated and sponsored by the Order of the Crimson, one of the several knightly orders of the Weiland. Prices are increasing, but so are stocks, and many rare and otherwise unobtainable goods will be sold in the days leading up.
"h"
"Sounds like you earned yourself a drink then." Tren tells the elf with a nod. He waves a server over and buys the elf a drink of his choice. He also gets a refill for himself, leaning back in his chair as he drinks. "Any other news from abroad?" he asks once the elf has a chance to take a drink or two.
"Not much to report, except that you should really buy stuff quick. I'm faster than most, but the floodgates will be opened for all the tourists and merchants for Saints Day. You'd also do well to book up the last few places left in town, if you're looking to stay. And on another note, lets keep this between the eight of us here, but you wanna stay away from Theorr until Saints Day is over. Heard from a few buddies that some of their lords have got it in their heads that Saints Day, of all days, would be a great day to launch an attack. I don't think they'll get into the Weiland, but they may try to pick off some stragglers caught in their territory. So look after yourselves. Strength in numbers isn't really strength anymore when you're up against a whole raiding party."
"h"
Bardos leans back in his chair and takes another drink. “Thanks for the heads up. I have not spent much time in Theorr. What cause have they to attack the Weiland, especially on Saints Day?” he asks without displaying much concern or enthusiasm.
"Attacking on a holiday..." He shook his head. "Violence is bad for business - unless violence is their business. It's good to hear they probably won't make it here. Might derail my mission. I need to try to meet with the powers that be, here..." Agar trailed off as he checked out the others at the table, while trying to still see Helgi out of the corner of his eye, gauging his reaction. "... I'm supposed to start setting up a business venture there."
"A spiritual victory. Unlike here in the Weiland, where all faiths are accepted, in Theorr, they worship only the Land itself. To seize a victory -- no matter how small -- would be in their eyes a triumph over the traitorous worshipers of false gods. Not to mention the existing conflicts between Theorr and Weiland -- an attack would drive away the crowds and be disastrous for business. Of course, I doubt they'd have the mettle to do it. Sure, the stakes are higher now, but the roads are getting increasingly more well defended."
OOC: @ikarbino we are in weiland rn
"h"
ooc: oh damn. I'll change my post then.
"So I understand that the Jarl is out of town? Has been for some time? Who's in charge then?" He'd need to figure out some way of getting in touch with them.
Grishkar cants his head slightly toward Agar, blindly speaking to the voice, "Everyone sees conflict as a bad thing. You must try looking at positives instead. Try to see the silver linings and opportunities present. A few merchants and celebrants may have a hard time from it all, but think of the other enterprises that could flourish. Smithies, mercenary companies, and those of other creative pursuits could make gains." The elf's cocky, scarred grin split once more, "A friend once told me, 'If life gives you nothing but shit, make bricks and eventually you'll have a house'."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Ludovico barks out a single “Ha!” at this bit regarding bricks, and houses. “I like that. I’ve not heard that turn of phrase before, but it certainly is a familiar concept.”
Paladin - warforged - orange
“Bah, ” Bardos snorts. “I heard the elven gods are dead. I place no faith in the divine, where were they when...” Bardo trailed off. With a grunt, he regains his thoughts “I also care little about quarrels between petty local lords over land, gods, or other slights" He glances over at Grishkar "no matter who may benefit. Tell me friend," he leans forward to Helgi and speaks in a conspiratorial tone, “you are well traveled, what do you know of the name Cleron? I hear nothing but whispers in the wind."