On the southern coast of Gavander once sat the bustling town of Nacesa. Once a heavy supplier of the realms imports over seas has now been overtaken by a rogue, mechanical creature known as the Cadaver Collector. Months have passed since the initial attack, and now the beast roams the near baron streets, though some citizens still reside in the safer sections of the town.
The Gavanderan forces have put much effort into dealing with the creature, but most arms and soldiers are currently being directed toward the raging war between Crul Astra. Thus, an organization called the Obsidian Stand; comprised of capable beings has took on the task, and have selected six of their members-in-training to travel to Nacesa, eliminate this Collector, save as many as civilians as possible, and figure out where this beast has come from. In doing so, they will become full members of the Obsidian Stand, one of the highest marks in Gavander. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The six of you meet in Sire, a large city seemingly unaffected by the war due to it's distance from the border. It was within the Sire Keep where you meet with Sir Vadamal, the man in charge of Sire; and Advisor Marren, a head official of the Obsidian Stand.
Stepping out of Sire Keep, a relatively short man lets out a yawn. Atop his head, a curling pair of ram-like horns sweep back and displace a mop of auburn hair. Unmoved by the horns, the hair spreads along the side of the man's face in a thick neckbeard. The man, who can be clearly identified as a satyr, adjusts the jet black cloak on his back as he glances around looking for his new companions. His sharp green eyes scan across the courtyard/room/street and a smile begins to curl across his face. A single drum hangs at one side, a small glass pot at the other, and he is absently strumming a lute with a sparkling pick that seems to be constantly shifting colors as he searches. His pack hangs loosely off of one shoulder, and the slightly open zipper reveals the top of a second moderate-sized string instrument. A snoring, tiny, red-colored, drake is draped across his shoulders, over the collar of the cloak, like a lazy cat. The drake opens a single eye to see its master's reaction as it lets out a sparkled sneeze and the satyr gives the drake a gentle pat on the head. The satyr mutters quietly in draconic, "Behave now, Errol. We have to make a good impression." The drake gives a quiet, "Hmph," before promptly falling back asleep. Still not seeing any of his companions, the satyr goes back to his lute and continues plucking away while he waits.
Keir rides slowly along the road on his dappled mare. It prances a little beneath him, but he is familiar with the motion and they work comfortably together. The Switstride had been training with the Obsidian Stand for the past year, ever since he had been driven in by the Great Winter. Keir had lived solo off the land for some time now, and his clothing still reflected that. A mix of furs and linens in Black, greys and greens. Things that would blend in without a thought in the woods. Slung on his saddle horn was a longbow, and peaking up over his shoulder was the point of a spear. Keir could have passed for any hunter having come in from the hills, except for the flaming red cape he wore, draped across one shoulder, with the hood down. The gold embroidery sparkling in the sunlight. The cape stood in stark contrast with the rest of his outfit, yet Keir wore it almost everywhere he went.
"Rakim, I that dragon of your ever useful." Keir laughed as the Satyr tried to rouse his drake.
Rakim rolls his eyes as Keir rides up, "More useful than that horse of yours!" The satyr gives the shifter a wink and a grin. "He's just a little sleepy from all the travel back to Sire." Errol telepathically sends the image of Rakim blowing a raspberry to Keir and the ranger also receives a hint of exhausted joy coming from the drake. Rakim looks up at the archer and strums a chord on his lute. A red gift box appears hovering in front of the swiftstride's face and the satyr says in a sing-songy voice, "I've got a gift for you!"
Rakim had spent the last few months wandering the north of Gavander and singing songs and telling tales of the mysterious and dangerous feywild. The Obsidian Stand had been a helpful organization to join when he first got to the material plane, but the constant training and assignments were rubbing Rakim the wrong way, so he dipped out of training before he was finished. Only when he caught wind of an opportunity to be instantly promoted did the satyr finally return to Sire for what was hopefully a quick ascent to freedom through full-fledged membership in the Obsidian Stand.
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“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
"Oi, Keir!" The voice comes from round the corner of a building, preceding it's owner. It is nasal and has s slightly annoying quality to it - it is not a voice that you would want to listen to for long stints. "I though I heard you yapping. Who's the Satyr?" As the figure comes clearly into view round the corner they see a goblin short of stature, her pointed ears jutting out under messy hair, roughly hewn and an uneven mid length, with the pointed teeth common to her race showing under an ward looking expression that might have been a smile. Her skin is sandy coloured and pitted, with a few scars showing on her bare arms and face. Her attire is a mix of leathery strips and straps, with cloth offcuts camoflaging the goblin's silhouette. She wears a short sword on one hip, a dagger on the other, and has an unstrung shortbow and quiver across her back.
"Draanel, surely you bumped into Rakim around? He has been gone for a few months, but that pet of his stands out a mile away." Keir slowed down just a little, allowing Draanel to catch up. He had enjoyed getting out of the city and into the surrounding countryside on occasion with the Goblin. She was a fine hunter and had such interesting stories to share from the Fey. Keir could barely believe them at times and was never sure if they were enticing or intimidating. "You know, it makes me wonder why they call on the likes of us for such a task. Are they truly that shorthanded? Or is it because we are expendable?"Keir said with a slight laugh, trying to hide his unease."Still, while in the service of the Obsidian Stand, we go where we are pointed."
Striding towards the gathering group Robin looks them over. she is a pretty woman with long red hair, currently tied back in a long braid. She wears half plate armor with a long, knee-length, cloak over it. Under the armor is an ankle-length tunic. In one hand she holds a rune-carved staff that almost shimmers with power. At her waist a book hangs from a chain, runes of magic visible on its cover as it sways with her movement. Her emerald eyes are intense as she looks each of the group over.
"Well, I am guessing I am in the right place then." Robin says with a nod. "Your reputations proceed you." Her eyes scan around again. "Are we waiting for anyone else?"
A man in his forties comes forward and smiles (opening his mouth, one could tell some teeth were missing and the rest were quite yellow). His name is Albert
He strides forward using a beautiful halberd as a walking staff.
Albert is in his forties, ugly face with some yellow teeth, bald, a whole unkept beard, quite short for a human but with broad shoulder and taurine neck. he is muscular but quite fat but it is clear that at the moment he is a little out of shape. He is always up for fun, parties and even dirty jokes. Today he is wearing some pirate-style clothes (they seem new) and wears both a belt and suspenders (ooc: that's how I figure out how to put my two items in play).
First he takes a long look at the woman with red hair but then he notices something:
Errol! you lazy nasty dragon! Rakim, nice to see you as well, how are you?
And then:
To everyone, I am Albert, are you all here to meet with Sir Vadamal?!
"Never met but I knew the name. Fey this side of a rift tend to catch my attention." She nods her head curtly in acknowledgment of the Satyr and his drake, a slight upturn of her top lip again making out some facial expression that may or may not have been friendly in intent. "Cos we don't get standing pay, an they don't mind getting us deaded, which makes us ideal for the suicide missions." The little goblin's cynical views on the world were nothing new to Keir.
As the tall red headed woman appears, Draanel seems to make a slight effort with her appearance, ruffling her hair in a supposed attempt to portray something a little less ragged, but making no noticeable difference to her appearance at all. "Reputation is as good as hearsay, I prefer to judge them I hunt with for myself. Stand don't let any rabble in though, so that ain't nothing."
As the human with the impressively long pole strides amongst the group, Draanel remembers hearing something about him, and his introduction confirmed his identity. "That's about the sum of it, here for whatever pile of horse dung job needs cleaning up now. Actually, I could do with a new horse, had to eat my last one after it broke a leg."
Rakim gives a nod to the goblin, he'd heard of her as well. Never trained together, but being from the Feywild, they had both heard of each other. He has seen and met the wizard woman before, but like Draanel, Rakim had never actually worked with Robin before. Albert on the other hand had trained with Rakim when he first got to the material plane.
Seeing Draanel approach, Rakim gives a nod of understanding and as the others trickle in and as the conversation picks up, the satyr swings his pack off and starts rifling through it. Eventually, he pulls out a pair of long wooden arrows. Grinning, he slings the pack back on his shoulder and looks at the others. When Draanel finishes his comment about Albert and a new horse, Rakim holds out the two arrows. One to Draanel, and the other to Keir. "It isn't much, but I carved these myself on the way back here. I had heard that I'd be traveling with a couple of archers, so I figured it might do you both a bit of good. They are lightly enchanted. Not enough to make it so you can't miss at all, but it should help your shot." Rakim quickly corrects himself, "Not that I think you need it, but it could prove useful." His gift given, the satyr's lute is back in his hands within moments and he is back to strumming away. As his fingers pluck at the strings (the pick has now vanished into thin air), he asks everyone, "So, how long you think until they let us in?" As he plays, an odd smell starts to emanate from his shoulders along with a slowly moving cloud of the pink gas that seems to have come from the dragon on Rakim's shoulder. Rakim is unfazed by the smell, which is strangely like strawberries that are far too sweet, except for a quick wrinkle of the nose. He gives a glance to his shoulder to Errol but doesn't say anything as Errol still appears to be sleeping.
(OOC: Each Arrow is an +1 Arrow which Draanel and Keir can add to their inventories and I am removing from Rakim's.)
As you enjoy chatter outside the massive, pale stone walls of Sire Keep, the doors creak open as a halfling pokes his head out. He's plump in the body and face but his limbs are scrawny. A pair of spectacles hang off his nose like a cliff. His balding head is a perfect mirror, currently being washed with an ocean of sweat. He carried a mangled bundle of parchment with loose pieces falling as he scrambles over to you.
"Uh... greetings."He fumbles with his documents to get a free hand out to shake all your hands (His hand is quite sweaty). He then pushes his spectacles up, only for them to fall right back down to the edge. "Sir Vadamal is—er... ready for you. So, if you would... follow me, and I'll show you to... er... his quarters. We're still expecting the... advisor, but they've sent a message of magical...means, and shouldn't be long."
Draanel nods her thanks at the satyr, and quickly inspects the arrow before putting it into her quiver.
As the sweaty halfling Rice's amongst them, Draanel has no qualms about rejecting the sweaty hand, looking at it and moving her hands away. "Don't need a salt wash. Just take us to your man and we can make a start on our business."
Draanel nods her thanks at the satyr, and quickly inspects the arrow before putting it into her quiver.
As the sweaty halfling Rice's amongst them, Draanel has no qualms about rejecting the sweaty hand, looking at it and moving her hands away. "Don't need a salt wash. Just take us to your man and we can make a start on our business."
The halfling blushes but turns to lead you into the keep. The hall is narrow, but the building itself seems to be a bit bigger than it looks on the outside. Banners of deed lilac hang to the walls as you ascend a small flight of steps to reach a circular room. Near the back, a human man in a uniform lines with the same lilac color is scanning a litter of parchments strewn about on his desk. His sunshine hair is slicked back to show his angular face, which displays a deep frown as you all come closer. He doesn't notice you, so the halfling tries to get his attention, but seems to be too hesitant to actually try heartedly.
"Well met." Robin says loudly as they enter the room. She walks directly up to the man with blond hair, and would rap on the desk with her fist if it comes to it to get attention.
Keir takes the offered arrow from Rakim and notes the differences between it and the ones already in his quiver. The shaft is a little more supple and the fletching was more manicured. This would make it easy to recognise when he needed it. "Thank you. You must let me repay the debt when I can."
Arriving at the doors of Sire Keep, he slides off his horse to stand while he listens. He briefly shakes the offered hand before following the halfling inside. As they walk through the halls, Keir hangs back, keeping a little distance between him and the rest of the party. He had a habit of always maintaining options for escape, even when safety seemed assured. As the entre the room, Keir moves to the right, remaining just inside the door.
As you all step close to who your presume is Sir Vadamal, you can make a Perception Check.
Robin raps her knuckles on the desk and the man darts his head up. He look's a bit well traveled with sun-kissed skin and callused hands as he stands to greet you. He stands in a way that commands respect, but in a friendly, outgoing way. "Ah, there you are. Pleased to meet all of you. I am Sir Kilim Vadamal."He takes a slight bow before going around to each of you and asking your names.
As Sir Vadamal approaches, Keir bobs his head, then extends his hand, looking the man directly in his eyes. “My name is Keir Greenley. I look forward to working with you.”
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Avoiding the halfling's hand entirely, Rakim scrunches his nose in disgust. The utter lack of confidence in the halfling was irksome to the satyr, and Rakim couldn't wait to be out of the coward's presence.
When Sir Vadamal introduces himself, Rakim stepped forward to join Albert and Robin at the table where he beamed at the man. The satyr returns the man's respectful bow and introduces himself, "The name is Rakim."
On the southern coast of Gavander once sat the bustling town of Nacesa. Once a heavy supplier of the realms imports over seas has now been overtaken by a rogue, mechanical creature known as the Cadaver Collector. Months have passed since the initial attack, and now the beast roams the near baron streets, though some citizens still reside in the safer sections of the town.
The Gavanderan forces have put much effort into dealing with the creature, but most arms and soldiers are currently being directed toward the raging war between Crul Astra. Thus, an organization called the Obsidian Stand; comprised of capable beings has took on the task, and have selected six of their members-in-training to travel to Nacesa, eliminate this Collector, save as many as civilians as possible, and figure out where this beast has come from. In doing so, they will become full members of the Obsidian Stand, one of the highest marks in Gavander.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The six of you meet in Sire, a large city seemingly unaffected by the war due to it's distance from the border. It was within the Sire Keep where you meet with Sir Vadamal, the man in charge of Sire; and Advisor Marren, a head official of the Obsidian Stand.
Stepping out of Sire Keep, a relatively short man lets out a yawn. Atop his head, a curling pair of ram-like horns sweep back and displace a mop of auburn hair. Unmoved by the horns, the hair spreads along the side of the man's face in a thick neckbeard. The man, who can be clearly identified as a satyr, adjusts the jet black cloak on his back as he glances around looking for his new companions. His sharp green eyes scan across the courtyard/room/street and a smile begins to curl across his face. A single drum hangs at one side, a small glass pot at the other, and he is absently strumming a lute with a sparkling pick that seems to be constantly shifting colors as he searches. His pack hangs loosely off of one shoulder, and the slightly open zipper reveals the top of a second moderate-sized string instrument. A snoring, tiny, red-colored, drake is draped across his shoulders, over the collar of the cloak, like a lazy cat. The drake opens a single eye to see its master's reaction as it lets out a sparkled sneeze and the satyr gives the drake a gentle pat on the head. The satyr mutters quietly in draconic, "Behave now, Errol. We have to make a good impression." The drake gives a quiet, "Hmph," before promptly falling back asleep. Still not seeing any of his companions, the satyr goes back to his lute and continues plucking away while he waits.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
Keir rides slowly along the road on his dappled mare. It prances a little beneath him, but he is familiar with the motion and they work comfortably together. The Switstride had been training with the Obsidian Stand for the past year, ever since he had been driven in by the Great Winter. Keir had lived solo off the land for some time now, and his clothing still reflected that. A mix of furs and linens in Black, greys and greens. Things that would blend in without a thought in the woods. Slung on his saddle horn was a longbow, and peaking up over his shoulder was the point of a spear. Keir could have passed for any hunter having come in from the hills, except for the flaming red cape he wore, draped across one shoulder, with the hood down. The gold embroidery sparkling in the sunlight. The cape stood in stark contrast with the rest of his outfit, yet Keir wore it almost everywhere he went.
"Rakim, I that dragon of your ever useful." Keir laughed as the Satyr tried to rouse his drake.
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Rakim rolls his eyes as Keir rides up, "More useful than that horse of yours!" The satyr gives the shifter a wink and a grin. "He's just a little sleepy from all the travel back to Sire." Errol telepathically sends the image of Rakim blowing a raspberry to Keir and the ranger also receives a hint of exhausted joy coming from the drake. Rakim looks up at the archer and strums a chord on his lute. A red gift box appears hovering in front of the swiftstride's face and the satyr says in a sing-songy voice, "I've got a gift for you!"
Rakim had spent the last few months wandering the north of Gavander and singing songs and telling tales of the mysterious and dangerous feywild. The Obsidian Stand had been a helpful organization to join when he first got to the material plane, but the constant training and assignments were rubbing Rakim the wrong way, so he dipped out of training before he was finished. Only when he caught wind of an opportunity to be instantly promoted did the satyr finally return to Sire for what was hopefully a quick ascent to freedom through full-fledged membership in the Obsidian Stand.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
"Oi, Keir!" The voice comes from round the corner of a building, preceding it's owner. It is nasal and has s slightly annoying quality to it - it is not a voice that you would want to listen to for long stints. "I though I heard you yapping. Who's the Satyr?" As the figure comes clearly into view round the corner they see a goblin short of stature, her pointed ears jutting out under messy hair, roughly hewn and an uneven mid length, with the pointed teeth common to her race showing under an ward looking expression that might have been a smile. Her skin is sandy coloured and pitted, with a few scars showing on her bare arms and face. Her attire is a mix of leathery strips and straps, with cloth offcuts camoflaging the goblin's silhouette. She wears a short sword on one hip, a dagger on the other, and has an unstrung shortbow and quiver across her back.
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
"Draanel, surely you bumped into Rakim around? He has been gone for a few months, but that pet of his stands out a mile away." Keir slowed down just a little, allowing Draanel to catch up. He had enjoyed getting out of the city and into the surrounding countryside on occasion with the Goblin. She was a fine hunter and had such interesting stories to share from the Fey. Keir could barely believe them at times and was never sure if they were enticing or intimidating. "You know, it makes me wonder why they call on the likes of us for such a task. Are they truly that shorthanded? Or is it because we are expendable?" Keir said with a slight laugh, trying to hide his unease. "Still, while in the service of the Obsidian Stand, we go where we are pointed."
Striding towards the gathering group Robin looks them over. she is a pretty woman with long red hair, currently tied back in a long braid. She wears half plate armor with a long, knee-length, cloak over it. Under the armor is an ankle-length tunic. In one hand she holds a rune-carved staff that almost shimmers with power. At her waist a book hangs from a chain, runes of magic visible on its cover as it sways with her movement. Her emerald eyes are intense as she looks each of the group over.
"Well, I am guessing I am in the right place then." Robin says with a nod. "Your reputations proceed you." Her eyes scan around again. "Are we waiting for anyone else?"
so, were you waiting for me?!
A man in his forties comes forward and smiles (opening his mouth, one could tell some teeth were missing and the rest were quite yellow). His name is Albert
He strides forward using a beautiful halberd as a walking staff.
Albert is in his forties, ugly face with some yellow teeth, bald, a whole unkept beard, quite short for a human but with broad shoulder and taurine neck. he is muscular but quite fat but it is clear that at the moment he is a little out of shape. He is always up for fun, parties and even dirty jokes. Today he is wearing some pirate-style clothes (they seem new) and wears both a belt and suspenders (ooc: that's how I figure out how to put my two items in play).
First he takes a long look at the woman with red hair but then he notices something:
Errol! you lazy nasty dragon! Rakim, nice to see you as well, how are you?
And then:
To everyone, I am Albert, are you all here to meet with Sir Vadamal?!
"Never met but I knew the name. Fey this side of a rift tend to catch my attention." She nods her head curtly in acknowledgment of the Satyr and his drake, a slight upturn of her top lip again making out some facial expression that may or may not have been friendly in intent. "Cos we don't get standing pay, an they don't mind getting us deaded, which makes us ideal for the suicide missions." The little goblin's cynical views on the world were nothing new to Keir.
As the tall red headed woman appears, Draanel seems to make a slight effort with her appearance, ruffling her hair in a supposed attempt to portray something a little less ragged, but making no noticeable difference to her appearance at all. "Reputation is as good as hearsay, I prefer to judge them I hunt with for myself. Stand don't let any rabble in though, so that ain't nothing."
As the human with the impressively long pole strides amongst the group, Draanel remembers hearing something about him, and his introduction confirmed his identity. "That's about the sum of it, here for whatever pile of horse dung job needs cleaning up now. Actually, I could do with a new horse, had to eat my last one after it broke a leg."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Rakim gives a nod to the goblin, he'd heard of her as well. Never trained together, but being from the Feywild, they had both heard of each other. He has seen and met the wizard woman before, but like Draanel, Rakim had never actually worked with Robin before. Albert on the other hand had trained with Rakim when he first got to the material plane.
Seeing Draanel approach, Rakim gives a nod of understanding and as the others trickle in and as the conversation picks up, the satyr swings his pack off and starts rifling through it. Eventually, he pulls out a pair of long wooden arrows. Grinning, he slings the pack back on his shoulder and looks at the others. When Draanel finishes his comment about Albert and a new horse, Rakim holds out the two arrows. One to Draanel, and the other to Keir. "It isn't much, but I carved these myself on the way back here. I had heard that I'd be traveling with a couple of archers, so I figured it might do you both a bit of good. They are lightly enchanted. Not enough to make it so you can't miss at all, but it should help your shot." Rakim quickly corrects himself, "Not that I think you need it, but it could prove useful." His gift given, the satyr's lute is back in his hands within moments and he is back to strumming away. As his fingers pluck at the strings (the pick has now vanished into thin air), he asks everyone, "So, how long you think until they let us in?" As he plays, an odd smell starts to emanate from his shoulders along with a slowly moving cloud of the pink gas that seems to have come from the dragon on Rakim's shoulder. Rakim is unfazed by the smell, which is strangely like strawberries that are far too sweet, except for a quick wrinkle of the nose. He gives a glance to his shoulder to Errol but doesn't say anything as Errol still appears to be sleeping.
(OOC: Each Arrow is an +1 Arrow which Draanel and Keir can add to their inventories and I am removing from Rakim's.)
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
ALL
As you enjoy chatter outside the massive, pale stone walls of Sire Keep, the doors creak open as a halfling pokes his head out. He's plump in the body and face but his limbs are scrawny. A pair of spectacles hang off his nose like a cliff. His balding head is a perfect mirror, currently being washed with an ocean of sweat. He carried a mangled bundle of parchment with loose pieces falling as he scrambles over to you.
"Uh... greetings." He fumbles with his documents to get a free hand out to shake all your hands (His hand is quite sweaty). He then pushes his spectacles up, only for them to fall right back down to the edge. "Sir Vadamal is—er... ready for you. So, if you would... follow me, and I'll show you to... er... his quarters. We're still expecting the... advisor, but they've sent a message of magical...means, and shouldn't be long."
Draanel nods her thanks at the satyr, and quickly inspects the arrow before putting it into her quiver.
As the sweaty halfling Rice's amongst them, Draanel has no qualms about rejecting the sweaty hand, looking at it and moving her hands away. "Don't need a salt wash. Just take us to your man and we can make a start on our business."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
The halfling blushes but turns to lead you into the keep. The hall is narrow, but the building itself seems to be a bit bigger than it looks on the outside. Banners of deed lilac hang to the walls as you ascend a small flight of steps to reach a circular room. Near the back, a human man in a uniform lines with the same lilac color is scanning a litter of parchments strewn about on his desk. His sunshine hair is slicked back to show his angular face, which displays a deep frown as you all come closer. He doesn't notice you, so the halfling tries to get his attention, but seems to be too hesitant to actually try heartedly.
"Well met." Robin says loudly as they enter the room. She walks directly up to the man with blond hair, and would rap on the desk with her fist if it comes to it to get attention.
Keir takes the offered arrow from Rakim and notes the differences between it and the ones already in his quiver. The shaft is a little more supple and the fletching was more manicured. This would make it easy to recognise when he needed it. "Thank you. You must let me repay the debt when I can."
Arriving at the doors of Sire Keep, he slides off his horse to stand while he listens. He briefly shakes the offered hand before following the halfling inside. As they walk through the halls, Keir hangs back, keeping a little distance between him and the rest of the party. He had a habit of always maintaining options for escape, even when safety seemed assured. As the entre the room, Keir moves to the right, remaining just inside the door.
ALL
As you all step close to who your presume is Sir Vadamal, you can make a Perception Check.
Robin raps her knuckles on the desk and the man darts his head up. He look's a bit well traveled with sun-kissed skin and callused hands as he stands to greet you. He stands in a way that commands respect, but in a friendly, outgoing way.
"Ah, there you are. Pleased to meet all of you. I am Sir Kilim Vadamal." He takes a slight bow before going around to each of you and asking your names.
Albert follows the halfling inside without further ado, he greets Sir Vadamal and oofers his hand to shake
Please to meet you, sir, my name is Albert, at your service.
Perception 8
Perception: 13
As Sir Vadamal approaches, Keir bobs his head, then extends his hand, looking the man directly in his eyes. “My name is Keir Greenley. I look forward to working with you.”
Avoiding the halfling's hand entirely, Rakim scrunches his nose in disgust. The utter lack of confidence in the halfling was irksome to the satyr, and Rakim couldn't wait to be out of the coward's presence.
When Sir Vadamal introduces himself, Rakim stepped forward to join Albert and Robin at the table where he beamed at the man. The satyr returns the man's respectful bow and introduces himself, "The name is Rakim."
Perception: 12
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”