To a party of new and seasoned adventures alike, what you see is yet another dull tavern in a dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of adventuring.
Outside of the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the souls of anyone outside. Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk. Behind the bar a young man is cleaning glasses while listening to the two locals sitting at the bar, in the middle of the room an older bard with greying hair is playing a rather sad sounding song and four locals are sitting at a table near the back of the room playing cards and chatting amongst themselves.
As a Dragonborn Terrax stands a good head taller then the average man. Dressed in a fancy leather vest, he smiles as he checks his pocket watch "Just as I thought" he exclaims to no one in particular. His crystal blue/white scales catch the light in a remarkable pattern. He strides across the tavern to sit at the bar "1 round of you finest ale. "The barkeep passes him a mug "Ahh that fine sir is the best ale I have ever tasted" Terrax lues with a smile on his face.
Aside from his vest there is nothing standoutisg about Terrax, he is dressed in simple traveling cloths, with a staff in one hand and a dagger on each. The only other noticeable item he displays is a ice blue crystal which he wears about his neck.
Harald is a middle aged man who is wide of stature and easy with a smile. He stands about 6ft tall with thick black and grey hair and a large unkempt moustache that hides his upper lip. He wears very unassuming clothing, a sweater that's a bit too small pulled over a tunic that sticks out.
He walks up to the bar, "Burr. My goodness it's chilly. I should have packed a larger jacket. Sir? Perhaps some tea would be nice if it's available."
He sits down, smiling at his neighbors. "Hello. Hello." Then takes out a notebook and begins reading and writing.
Esther sits alone in an armchair near the hearth, leaning forward, watching the fire. She has no mug, nor bowl, nor plate. If someone were curious enough to ask the innkeeper about the woman, they would say that Esther never orders anything when she comes in, which she does fairly regularly. She simply enters quietly, sits by the fire awhile fiddling with a roughly whittled twig, and then leaves again with a surprisingly generous tip left on the side table.
Esther is rather small and rather thin. Her hair and eyes are both very dark. Her skin is pale with a bluish tint that might make one think she is freezing cold, though she sits almost uncomfortably close to the flame. She is dressed in what appears to have once been a noble lady’s hunting outfit; A smartly tailored jacket in thick, reddish tweed with a practical, calf length skirt and vest to match over tall, brown boots. But her skirt is mud stained and frayed, her blouse wrinkled and missing a top button, her jacket is mended rather poorly in several places with mismatched thread. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows. She has no scarf nor furs nor jewelry. She wears a rough, colorless woolen blanket as a cloak with what appears to be an old iron lock serving as an improvised pin. Her possessions leaning against her chair include an old leather knapsack, a cavalry officer’s saber in a decorated scabbard, a rather impractical looking shield which was probably constructed more to hang as an ornament over a nobleman’s fireplace rather than serve in actual combat, and a straw hat so worn out that it’s a wonder it’s still holding together at all.
If one were watching Esther, one would likely notice the way she mumbles to herself quietly, staring into the fire, fidgeting with her wand, just like she always does. One would likely notice that the fire too seems to behave in all the ways in which a fire always does. That is, unless one were watching that fire almost as closely as Esther does. Then one might begin to notice the bursts and sputters and urgent fluttering of something small and bright and powerful trying to escape.
Whisper from Shadow, or Wisp for short, sits at a corner table facing into the room, his lithe black furred form covered by a cloak the hood of which doesn’t quite conceal his tabaxi jaw. Turquoise eyes within the hood reflect the light from the fire as he swirls a goblet of wine in his hand, occasionally taking a sip.
If he was standing one might estimate him to be just under six foot tall, his torso not muscly but bulked out by a studded leather jacket that can just be made out beneath his cloak. Beside him in the corner, leaning against the wall is a longbow, and a quiver is hanging from the back of his chair.
As he drains the last of his goblet, he reaches for a small jug on the table in front of him, looking to refill it. However, as he tips the jug only a dribble remains. A quiet growl escapes his throat and he stands slowly, swipes the jug from the table and walks to the bar, placing the jug down and simply says, “Again”, in a voice that sounds like a whisper but is loud enough to be heard, not curt or impolite just brief.
As he stands and waits for the barkeep, his eyes flick between the other patrons of the tavern.
The door opens to reveal a tall figure, perhaps between the tall man and the taller dragonborn that are already in the main hall of the inn. He has broad shoulders and powerful chest, covered by a weary chain mail that has seen better days. It has marks and clearly it has seen several battles. Under the armor he wears a traveler's outfit, mostly black leather and cotton, with mud stains that covers his trousers and boots. On his shoulder he carries a backpack and on strapped on his back a greatsword raises over his head, and he has to crouch a little bit to enter the inn.
He doesn't takes off the hood of his cloak as he glances around the room and finds a solitary table near a window, and away from the fire. He drops the backpack in one chair and let the sword leaning against the wall. He also leaves a longbow and a quiver there. The figure takes off his gloves and with pale hands discover his face. A long white hair, strapped on a ponytail with a slim piece of leather, has some rebel hairs that fall over a stern, yet atractive face. His green eyes seem to pierce the room as he looks at the waitress and waits for him to come over so he can order something.
A slim man with a pale complexion enters the inn, pulling the hood of his smoky gray cloak down and revealing a shock of dark brown hair. He glances around the room with dark brown eyes before sliding up to the bar. “A drink please, wine if you have it.” He is dressed in dark trousers and a muted green jacket over some well-worn leathers and carries a small traveling pack.
“My good man, play something fast and light, let’s liven up the party” he calls to the bard, tossing him a silver piece. His eyes take in the room with scattered occupants and settle on the card game on a table in the corner “What’s the game, gents? Mind if I buy in? You can tell me the latest news of the town as you try to lighten my pockets” His eyes take on a mischievous look, he is one that likes to live life to the fullest.
Álfarr hovers around the fire, close enough that the light plays off his face, but far enough that he doesn't seem to be getting any warmth from it. And far enough that he won't bother anyone else close to it. Hopefully.
He is a massive man, easily over six feet tall and built like a weightlifter. His skin is slightly tanned, framed by thick black hair and an equally thick beard with streaks of white shot through it. His clothes are mostly furred and there are multiple handaxes hanging off him, along with a much larger one strapped to his back. Despite his size, his demeanor is timid. If there were a corner nearby that was closer to the fire, he'd probably shrink into it if he could. As it stands (and as he stands), he remains as close to the fire as he dares, occasionally glancing at the old bard with something akin to reverence as he plays his somber tune.
The bartender nodded slightly and a small smile began to form on his face but before he could say something in response to the Dragonborn's comment about the ale but he was cut off by one of the locals that was sitting at the bar as well. "Most of the drinks are pretty good, although there was this one time Arlan here tried his hand at brewing and the results were quite interesting to say the least." The local said, half jokingly before glancing back down at her mug for a moment. A soft sigh escaped the bartender before shaking his head ever so slightly before taking a breath and letting it out as he thought about what he had been meaning to say. "The ale here is some of the best in the area but it pales in comparison to the new wine that we just got in."
Harald-
The bartender turned his attention to the newcomer and raised a brow slightly at the mention of tea. "If we did serve tea I'd happily make you some but the only drinks we sell are ale and wine. That being said if you're not really a fan of either I could heat up some water for you. Sure it's not tea but it's than nothing, right." He shrugged slightly before reaching for a clean mug. "It's normally not cold around these parts but every so often that fog just seems to show up and then just like that it's cold."
The other patron shifted slightly when they heard him say hello before nodding ever so slightly. For a moment they didn't say anything and just watched him as he took out the notebook. "Hmmm? Oh, hello." They lifted their mug and took a drink from it before smiling ever so slightly. "You're new around these parts aren't you?"
Whisper-
The bartender placed the mug he'd been holding back down when he noticed him place the jug down and he nodded slightly. "Coming right up." He hummed softly as he grabbed the jug. "I wish more people around here drank this stuff, then I wouldn't have to worry about the chance of running out of..." He trailed off slightly and quickly shook his head before carefully refilling the jug. Before placing it down on the bar he glanced at the other patrons sitting at the bar and sighed softly. "Our latest shipment is running a little late but I'm sure everything is fine... maybe they had some cart trouble or something."
Kosef-
"Do you prefer common wine or fine wine, sir?" The bartender asked, placing a jug and a bottle on the counter in front of him. "Both are good in their own unique ways."
The old Bard looks quite surprised when he asked him to play something fast and light and stops playing for a moment as he prepared himself to play another song. "It's been a while since I've played something like that but I can try. I apologize in advance." He took a breath and let it out before he began to play a slightly more upbeat song.
One of the men playing cards turns to face the newcomer for a moment before turning back to the table. "What does it look like we're playing?" He questioned with a faint chuckle before one of the other men spoke. "We're playing Hand of Fate, if you really want to play pull up a seat. It would be nice to have some proper competition for a change. I've heard that the normal buy-in is about 50 gold pieces but none of us are that well off so the buy-in for this game is 2 gold pieces."
Len-
As he entered the tavern there was a momentary silence but after a couple of seconds the music and conversations began again. The bartender watches him as he sits down at a table near one of the windows and takes a breath before walking around the bar. Slowly but surely he makes his way over to the table, as he gets closer to the table a faint ringing could be heard and it got louder the closer he got. Once he was at the table he cleared his throat slightly before speaking. "Hello good sir, is there anything in particular that I can get for? We are running a bit low on ale but we also have a decent selection of wine if you're thirsty and we have freshly made bread and stew if you are hungry."
Álfarr and Esther-
The door creaked open slightly as a woman entered the tavern and made her way over to the fire to warm herself. "Why is it always so cold when it's foggy around here?" She asked with a soft sigh as she took a few steps away from the fire. She mumbled something under her breath about the fog before taking a seat at a table near the hearth. She glanced towards the newcomer for a second and hesitated for a moment before motioning towards one of the empty seats almost as if to say he could take it if he needed to sit down. "Hopefully the fog will be gone before morning unlike last time. Although it could be worse, it could be snowing." She laughs a little before turning to face the fire. "It's amazing how something so warm and beautiful can be so dangerous..." she trails off when she notices the woman in the armchair and begins to watch as she fiddles with a whittled twig. She wanted to ask her something but decided not to, shifting in her seat a little as she watched her and the fire in a slightly curious maner.
Esther stirs, as if being awoken from a trance. She looks at the woman with an expression of puzzlement, but her face soon softens. She turns from the woman, to the enormous man standing nearby. She turns her wand like a key in an almost imperceptibly small motion (casting control flames) and the fire grows just a bit brighter, and just a bit warmer for the poor travelers. She can't be sure if the woman was talking to her or not, but she responds anyway, in a genteel voice. "Certainly it is dangerous, madam,"she says, "But I would hazard a guess that the cold has killed far more folk than fire ever has... And most of those folks' last mortal thoughts were spent wishing for the comfort of a hearth like this one."
Esther turns her eyes back to the hearth, and someone watching the fire closely would see for a moment the flames flickering into the shape of a clawing hand, desperately grasping for something, anything, to keep it from sinking down into the coals. And then Esther shivers and the fire is just a fire again. She shoves her wand hurriedly into her inside jacket pocket and straightens her skirt. She smiles up at Álfarr and says "Sir, please sit if you've a mind to. I have no objection to company, and Madam is right, the night is dreadfully cold. Though, I give fair warning, I'm not the finest of conversationalists." Turning back to the woman she says "You're welcome too, of course, Madam. I beg your pardon, I'm afraid I've accidentally commandeered the hearth with my brooding!"
She shoves her sword and pack under her chair to give them more room, a somewhat useless gesture given the several empty armchairs around the fire. She stands and curtsies with a grace that would almost make one forget her shabby cloak and tattered skirt. She says "My name is Esther Davies. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Wisp tilts his head in thanks for the refill, "If you need someone to check on your delivery, and have the coin to pay for such a service, I can do so", he says quietly whilst picking up the jug.
"Although I would wait for the fog to lift unless you are desperate. You know where I will be", he adds as he moves back to his table.
"I must try the fine wine next. You know I am something of an adventurer. For the right pice I would gladly look for your ale shipment" His once pleasant smile turning to a mischievous one.
He bends down to pick up his pack and utters a few arcane words. After he finishes a blue hand appears which grabs his staff for him. Picking up his glass of wine he strides across the bar tiping the bard a few silver. "Ah a much better tune" he smiles making his way to the tabaxi. "You look like you know how to handle your self, and that bow is a fine weapon. Im sure together we could find out what happened to that shipment of ale in no time" lowering his pack next to a chair, he takes a seat "Terrax is the name"
To the bartender Harald waves both his hands in an apologetic manner, "Oh no no. Heating up the water is a kind offer, but I wouldn't want to put you out like that. I just thought something warm would be nice after coming in from the cold. But the fire is nice and I'm warming up just fine now. Some wine would be nice. I'm not picky about the grapes or vintage. Just whatever you have recently opened."
Looking over at the other patron's sitting at the bar, "Yes I am new around here. My name is Professor Harald Sturlson, but since we're outside of the classroom you can just call me Harald." He now looks down at his notebook and his voice begins to trail for a moment, "I'm on a sort of...sabbatical if you will." Shaking his head, he looks back up at the other patron with a smile, "But I digress, what is your name if you don't mind me asking? And what can you tell me about this fog? Such a curiosity it is to come in every so often with such a chill."
Wisp looks up at the dragonborn from under his hood, appraising him. He had seen the way he retrieved his staff and so knew this Terrax had his own talents.
He waits for him to take a seat and then leans forward, placing his hands on the table. "I get by", he says in what can only be described as a loud whisper, "and I see you have certain talents, of your own".
"I have been known to work with others on occasion, rare though they have been. If there is payment to be made tracking this ale wagon, I would be willing to share with those who can pull their weight. Few know me, but those who do call me Wisp".
He leans back in his chair, lifts his goblet and tilts his head in salute, and takes a sip of his wine.
Álfarr's eyes widen slightly as he watches the fire shift and change under the strange woman's spell, attention drawn away from the bard momentarily. He continues to stare for a few more seconds, almost entirely missing that same woman addressing him. He looks from the fire, then to her, then back to the fire. Finally, he remembers manners. "I... sorry. Yes, thank you. I am not really good at talking either. It's fine. The fire is... nice. Yes." He coughs.
It takes him a couple of seconds to make his way over to one of the chairs, not wanting to refuse after being invited. He carefully brings his weight down on it, as though expecting it to shatter if he moves too quickly. Even when he sits, he sits on the edge, leaning forwards on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. He lets the silence hang in the air for a moment, slowly moving his eyes between the two women.
"Oh—sorry. Álfarr. My name. Nice to... meet you, Esther." He holds out one massive hand for a handshake. "A pleasure to meet you."
Esther shakes Álfarr's hand in a dignified manner, though her smile for him is genuine. She straightens her skirt and sits back down in her armchair. She is silent a few moments, appreciating the funny comradery that is immediately shared between two people who are obviously both equally uncomfortable in a social setting. Her hand absent-mindedly continues the strange fidgeting, though this time without the wand to give context to the motions. With practiced politeness that is not without kindness, she makes her best true effort at becoming a conversationalist.
"I'm not overly fond of crowded halls,"she says. "I prefer to spend my evenings out of doors, personally. The open sky and all that. But I'm even less fond of this fog than I am of tap rooms. It does disorient one so, don't you think?"
She is quiet half a moment, then clarifies "The fog, that is. Not the tap rooms. Though, they too bring about their own brand of disorientation..." She gestures with a jerk of her head to a man at a nearby table who is obviously two cups past buttered, trying in vain to start a chorus of a raunchy drinking song. She grins at Álfarr with a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes, apparently rather proud of her little joke. Her grin seems to say that it had been a very long time since she last joked with anyone, and it had taken her somewhat by surprise to learn it was something she were even capable of.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
“Common wine is fine, although, I find there is nothing common about wine,” Kosef replies to the bartender with a grin before turning to the card table. He places his hands out in mock surprise at the table stakes “Oh no, too rich for my blood. Are you sure you are not trying to take advantage of a poor traveler?”
He excuses himself and moves back to the bar, next to Harald “Harald is it, and a professor on sabbatical?”he sticks out his hand to introduce himself “I am Kosef. Professor of what, if I may ask?”
He will continue to watch the card table, trying to determine how to play the game and if anyone is cheating. Insight: 7.
Álfarr's beard shifts as he smiles about a second after Esther's joke, as if remembering that he's supposed to visibly react to those sorts of things. Clearly, it's been some time since he's engaged in any sort of extended conversation with anyone. He almost looks like he's starting to consider standing up again, but he takes a short breath and makes himself keep talking. "The fog is... uncomfortable, yes."He nods in agreement."I would also... prefer to be outside— out of doors...? Being inside is nice sometimes, like... like now. But out of doors is nicer. I like the trees and mountains." He looks over at the man Esther indicated, beard twitching in another smile. "I think... it's better to be lost in drinks rather than outside right now. Disoriented." He shakes his head and turns back to Esther, watching her hands for a moment. "You..."He glances at the fire. Struggles to make conversation. "You, uh... you like the fire?"
"Huh? How did you know who I wa..Oh you overheard. Ah yes. Sorry I didn't see you there. Uh well I'm a professor of history if you will. Specializing in the arcane history of giants actually. Kosef you said? Well it is a pleasure to meet you. You look like you don't see that much sunlight. Are you from around here? Please have a seat. I'm just having a chat with my neighbor who's name I haven't caught yet." And he gestures to the other patron next to him at the bar.
"Tremendously!" Esther replies with an expression of delight that suggests that Álfarr did, in fact, nail it. "And I have reason to suspect it rather likes me as well!"
She leans in furtively, sparing a glance for the woman who still has not chosen to join their conversation. She reclaims her wand from her pocket and whispers, with a rather girlish enthusiasm antithetical to the somber expression she had born only moments before, "Would you like to see?"
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To a party of new and seasoned adventures alike, what you see is yet another dull tavern in a dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of adventuring.
Outside of the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the souls of anyone outside. Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk. Behind the bar a young man is cleaning glasses while listening to the two locals sitting at the bar, in the middle of the room an older bard with greying hair is playing a rather sad sounding song and four locals are sitting at a table near the back of the room playing cards and chatting amongst themselves.
{Please, introduce and describe your characters.}
As a Dragonborn Terrax stands a good head taller then the average man. Dressed in a fancy leather vest, he smiles as he checks his pocket watch "Just as I thought" he exclaims to no one in particular. His crystal blue/white scales catch the light in a remarkable pattern. He strides across the tavern to sit at the bar "1 round of you finest ale. "The barkeep passes him a mug "Ahh that fine sir is the best ale I have ever tasted" Terrax lues with a smile on his face.
Aside from his vest there is nothing standoutisg about Terrax, he is dressed in simple traveling cloths, with a staff in one hand and a dagger on each. The only other noticeable item he displays is a ice blue crystal which he wears about his neck.
Harald is a middle aged man who is wide of stature and easy with a smile. He stands about 6ft tall with thick black and grey hair and a large unkempt moustache that hides his upper lip. He wears very unassuming clothing, a sweater that's a bit too small pulled over a tunic that sticks out.
He walks up to the bar, "Burr. My goodness it's chilly. I should have packed a larger jacket. Sir? Perhaps some tea would be nice if it's available."
He sits down, smiling at his neighbors. "Hello. Hello." Then takes out a notebook and begins reading and writing.
Esther sits alone in an armchair near the hearth, leaning forward, watching the fire. She has no mug, nor bowl, nor plate. If someone were curious enough to ask the innkeeper about the woman, they would say that Esther never orders anything when she comes in, which she does fairly regularly. She simply enters quietly, sits by the fire awhile fiddling with a roughly whittled twig, and then leaves again with a surprisingly generous tip left on the side table.
Esther is rather small and rather thin. Her hair and eyes are both very dark. Her skin is pale with a bluish tint that might make one think she is freezing cold, though she sits almost uncomfortably close to the flame. She is dressed in what appears to have once been a noble lady’s hunting outfit; A smartly tailored jacket in thick, reddish tweed with a practical, calf length skirt and vest to match over tall, brown boots. But her skirt is mud stained and frayed, her blouse wrinkled and missing a top button, her jacket is mended rather poorly in several places with mismatched thread. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows. She has no scarf nor furs nor jewelry. She wears a rough, colorless woolen blanket as a cloak with what appears to be an old iron lock serving as an improvised pin. Her possessions leaning against her chair include an old leather knapsack, a cavalry officer’s saber in a decorated scabbard, a rather impractical looking shield which was probably constructed more to hang as an ornament over a nobleman’s fireplace rather than serve in actual combat, and a straw hat so worn out that it’s a wonder it’s still holding together at all.
If one were watching Esther, one would likely notice the way she mumbles to herself quietly, staring into the fire, fidgeting with her wand, just like she always does. One would likely notice that the fire too seems to behave in all the ways in which a fire always does. That is, unless one were watching that fire almost as closely as Esther does. Then one might begin to notice the bursts and sputters and urgent fluttering of something small and bright and powerful trying to escape.
Whisper from Shadow, or Wisp for short, sits at a corner table facing into the room, his lithe black furred form covered by a cloak the hood of which doesn’t quite conceal his tabaxi jaw. Turquoise eyes within the hood reflect the light from the fire as he swirls a goblet of wine in his hand, occasionally taking a sip.
If he was standing one might estimate him to be just under six foot tall, his torso not muscly but bulked out by a studded leather jacket that can just be made out beneath his cloak. Beside him in the corner, leaning against the wall is a longbow, and a quiver is hanging from the back of his chair.
As he drains the last of his goblet, he reaches for a small jug on the table in front of him, looking to refill it. However, as he tips the jug only a dribble remains. A quiet growl escapes his throat and he stands slowly, swipes the jug from the table and walks to the bar, placing the jug down and simply says, “Again”, in a voice that sounds like a whisper but is loud enough to be heard, not curt or impolite just brief.
As he stands and waits for the barkeep, his eyes flick between the other patrons of the tavern.
The door opens to reveal a tall figure, perhaps between the tall man and the taller dragonborn that are already in the main hall of the inn. He has broad shoulders and powerful chest, covered by a weary chain mail that has seen better days. It has marks and clearly it has seen several battles. Under the armor he wears a traveler's outfit, mostly black leather and cotton, with mud stains that covers his trousers and boots. On his shoulder he carries a backpack and on strapped on his back a greatsword raises over his head, and he has to crouch a little bit to enter the inn.
He doesn't takes off the hood of his cloak as he glances around the room and finds a solitary table near a window, and away from the fire. He drops the backpack in one chair and let the sword leaning against the wall. He also leaves a longbow and a quiver there. The figure takes off his gloves and with pale hands discover his face. A long white hair, strapped on a ponytail with a slim piece of leather, has some rebel hairs that fall over a stern, yet atractive face. His green eyes seem to pierce the room as he looks at the waitress and waits for him to come over so he can order something.
PbP Character: A few ;)
A slim man with a pale complexion enters the inn, pulling the hood of his smoky gray cloak down and revealing a shock of dark brown hair. He glances around the room with dark brown eyes before sliding up to the bar. “A drink please, wine if you have it.” He is dressed in dark trousers and a muted green jacket over some well-worn leathers and carries a small traveling pack.
“My good man, play something fast and light, let’s liven up the party” he calls to the bard, tossing him a silver piece. His eyes take in the room with scattered occupants and settle on the card game on a table in the corner “What’s the game, gents? Mind if I buy in? You can tell me the latest news of the town as you try to lighten my pockets” His eyes take on a mischievous look, he is one that likes to live life to the fullest.
Álfarr hovers around the fire, close enough that the light plays off his face, but far enough that he doesn't seem to be getting any warmth from it. And far enough that he won't bother anyone else close to it. Hopefully.
He is a massive man, easily over six feet tall and built like a weightlifter. His skin is slightly tanned, framed by thick black hair and an equally thick beard with streaks of white shot through it. His clothes are mostly furred and there are multiple handaxes hanging off him, along with a much larger one strapped to his back. Despite his size, his demeanor is timid. If there were a corner nearby that was closer to the fire, he'd probably shrink into it if he could. As it stands (and as he stands), he remains as close to the fire as he dares, occasionally glancing at the old bard with something akin to reverence as he plays his somber tune.
Terrax-
The bartender nodded slightly and a small smile began to form on his face but before he could say something in response to the Dragonborn's comment about the ale but he was cut off by one of the locals that was sitting at the bar as well. "Most of the drinks are pretty good, although there was this one time Arlan here tried his hand at brewing and the results were quite interesting to say the least." The local said, half jokingly before glancing back down at her mug for a moment. A soft sigh escaped the bartender before shaking his head ever so slightly before taking a breath and letting it out as he thought about what he had been meaning to say. "The ale here is some of the best in the area but it pales in comparison to the new wine that we just got in."
Harald-
The bartender turned his attention to the newcomer and raised a brow slightly at the mention of tea. "If we did serve tea I'd happily make you some but the only drinks we sell are ale and wine. That being said if you're not really a fan of either I could heat up some water for you. Sure it's not tea but it's than nothing, right." He shrugged slightly before reaching for a clean mug. "It's normally not cold around these parts but every so often that fog just seems to show up and then just like that it's cold."
The other patron shifted slightly when they heard him say hello before nodding ever so slightly. For a moment they didn't say anything and just watched him as he took out the notebook. "Hmmm? Oh, hello." They lifted their mug and took a drink from it before smiling ever so slightly. "You're new around these parts aren't you?"
Whisper-
The bartender placed the mug he'd been holding back down when he noticed him place the jug down and he nodded slightly. "Coming right up." He hummed softly as he grabbed the jug. "I wish more people around here drank this stuff, then I wouldn't have to worry about the chance of running out of..." He trailed off slightly and quickly shook his head before carefully refilling the jug. Before placing it down on the bar he glanced at the other patrons sitting at the bar and sighed softly. "Our latest shipment is running a little late but I'm sure everything is fine... maybe they had some cart trouble or something."
Kosef-
"Do you prefer common wine or fine wine, sir?" The bartender asked, placing a jug and a bottle on the counter in front of him. "Both are good in their own unique ways."
The old Bard looks quite surprised when he asked him to play something fast and light and stops playing for a moment as he prepared himself to play another song. "It's been a while since I've played something like that but I can try. I apologize in advance." He took a breath and let it out before he began to play a slightly more upbeat song.
One of the men playing cards turns to face the newcomer for a moment before turning back to the table. "What does it look like we're playing?" He questioned with a faint chuckle before one of the other men spoke. "We're playing Hand of Fate, if you really want to play pull up a seat. It would be nice to have some proper competition for a change. I've heard that the normal buy-in is about 50 gold pieces but none of us are that well off so the buy-in for this game is 2 gold pieces."
Len-
As he entered the tavern there was a momentary silence but after a couple of seconds the music and conversations began again. The bartender watches him as he sits down at a table near one of the windows and takes a breath before walking around the bar. Slowly but surely he makes his way over to the table, as he gets closer to the table a faint ringing could be heard and it got louder the closer he got. Once he was at the table he cleared his throat slightly before speaking. "Hello good sir, is there anything in particular that I can get for? We are running a bit low on ale but we also have a decent selection of wine if you're thirsty and we have freshly made bread and stew if you are hungry."
Álfarr and Esther-
The door creaked open slightly as a woman entered the tavern and made her way over to the fire to warm herself. "Why is it always so cold when it's foggy around here?" She asked with a soft sigh as she took a few steps away from the fire. She mumbled something under her breath about the fog before taking a seat at a table near the hearth. She glanced towards the newcomer for a second and hesitated for a moment before motioning towards one of the empty seats almost as if to say he could take it if he needed to sit down. "Hopefully the fog will be gone before morning unlike last time. Although it could be worse, it could be snowing." She laughs a little before turning to face the fire. "It's amazing how something so warm and beautiful can be so dangerous..." she trails off when she notices the woman in the armchair and begins to watch as she fiddles with a whittled twig. She wanted to ask her something but decided not to, shifting in her seat a little as she watched her and the fire in a slightly curious maner.
Esther stirs, as if being awoken from a trance. She looks at the woman with an expression of puzzlement, but her face soon softens. She turns from the woman, to the enormous man standing nearby. She turns her wand like a key in an almost imperceptibly small motion (casting control flames) and the fire grows just a bit brighter, and just a bit warmer for the poor travelers. She can't be sure if the woman was talking to her or not, but she responds anyway, in a genteel voice. "Certainly it is dangerous, madam," she says, "But I would hazard a guess that the cold has killed far more folk than fire ever has... And most of those folks' last mortal thoughts were spent wishing for the comfort of a hearth like this one."
Esther turns her eyes back to the hearth, and someone watching the fire closely would see for a moment the flames flickering into the shape of a clawing hand, desperately grasping for something, anything, to keep it from sinking down into the coals. And then Esther shivers and the fire is just a fire again. She shoves her wand hurriedly into her inside jacket pocket and straightens her skirt. She smiles up at Álfarr and says "Sir, please sit if you've a mind to. I have no objection to company, and Madam is right, the night is dreadfully cold. Though, I give fair warning, I'm not the finest of conversationalists." Turning back to the woman she says "You're welcome too, of course, Madam. I beg your pardon, I'm afraid I've accidentally commandeered the hearth with my brooding!"
She shoves her sword and pack under her chair to give them more room, a somewhat useless gesture given the several empty armchairs around the fire. She stands and curtsies with a grace that would almost make one forget her shabby cloak and tattered skirt. She says "My name is Esther Davies. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Wisp tilts his head in thanks for the refill, "If you need someone to check on your delivery, and have the coin to pay for such a service, I can do so", he says quietly whilst picking up the jug.
"Although I would wait for the fog to lift unless you are desperate. You know where I will be", he adds as he moves back to his table.
"I must try the fine wine next. You know I am something of an adventurer. For the right pice I would gladly look for your ale shipment" His once pleasant smile turning to a mischievous one.
He bends down to pick up his pack and utters a few arcane words. After he finishes a blue hand appears which grabs his staff for him. Picking up his glass of wine he strides across the bar tiping the bard a few silver. "Ah a much better tune" he smiles making his way to the tabaxi. "You look like you know how to handle your self, and that bow is a fine weapon. Im sure together we could find out what happened to that shipment of ale in no time" lowering his pack next to a chair, he takes a seat "Terrax is the name"
To the bartender Harald waves both his hands in an apologetic manner, "Oh no no. Heating up the water is a kind offer, but I wouldn't want to put you out like that. I just thought something warm would be nice after coming in from the cold. But the fire is nice and I'm warming up just fine now. Some wine would be nice. I'm not picky about the grapes or vintage. Just whatever you have recently opened."
Looking over at the other patron's sitting at the bar, "Yes I am new around here. My name is Professor Harald Sturlson, but since we're outside of the classroom you can just call me Harald." He now looks down at his notebook and his voice begins to trail for a moment, "I'm on a sort of...sabbatical if you will." Shaking his head, he looks back up at the other patron with a smile, "But I digress, what is your name if you don't mind me asking? And what can you tell me about this fog? Such a curiosity it is to come in every so often with such a chill."
Wisp looks up at the dragonborn from under his hood, appraising him. He had seen the way he retrieved his staff and so knew this Terrax had his own talents.
He waits for him to take a seat and then leans forward, placing his hands on the table. "I get by", he says in what can only be described as a loud whisper, "and I see you have certain talents, of your own".
"I have been known to work with others on occasion, rare though they have been. If there is payment to be made tracking this ale wagon, I would be willing to share with those who can pull their weight. Few know me, but those who do call me Wisp".
He leans back in his chair, lifts his goblet and tilts his head in salute, and takes a sip of his wine.
Álfarr's eyes widen slightly as he watches the fire shift and change under the strange woman's spell, attention drawn away from the bard momentarily. He continues to stare for a few more seconds, almost entirely missing that same woman addressing him. He looks from the fire, then to her, then back to the fire. Finally, he remembers manners. "I... sorry. Yes, thank you. I am not really good at talking either. It's fine. The fire is... nice. Yes." He coughs.
It takes him a couple of seconds to make his way over to one of the chairs, not wanting to refuse after being invited. He carefully brings his weight down on it, as though expecting it to shatter if he moves too quickly. Even when he sits, he sits on the edge, leaning forwards on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. He lets the silence hang in the air for a moment, slowly moving his eyes between the two women.
"Oh—sorry. Álfarr. My name. Nice to... meet you, Esther." He holds out one massive hand for a handshake. "A pleasure to meet you."
Esther shakes Álfarr's hand in a dignified manner, though her smile for him is genuine. She straightens her skirt and sits back down in her armchair. She is silent a few moments, appreciating the funny comradery that is immediately shared between two people who are obviously both equally uncomfortable in a social setting. Her hand absent-mindedly continues the strange fidgeting, though this time without the wand to give context to the motions. With practiced politeness that is not without kindness, she makes her best true effort at becoming a conversationalist.
"I'm not overly fond of crowded halls," she says. "I prefer to spend my evenings out of doors, personally. The open sky and all that. But I'm even less fond of this fog than I am of tap rooms. It does disorient one so, don't you think?"
She is quiet half a moment, then clarifies "The fog, that is. Not the tap rooms. Though, they too bring about their own brand of disorientation..." She gestures with a jerk of her head to a man at a nearby table who is obviously two cups past buttered, trying in vain to start a chorus of a raunchy drinking song. She grins at Álfarr with a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes, apparently rather proud of her little joke. Her grin seems to say that it had been a very long time since she last joked with anyone, and it had taken her somewhat by surprise to learn it was something she were even capable of.
“Common wine is fine, although, I find there is nothing common about wine,” Kosef replies to the bartender with a grin before turning to the card table. He places his hands out in mock surprise at the table stakes “Oh no, too rich for my blood. Are you sure you are not trying to take advantage of a poor traveler?”
He excuses himself and moves back to the bar, next to Harald “Harald is it, and a professor on sabbatical?” he sticks out his hand to introduce himself “I am Kosef. Professor of what, if I may ask?”
He will continue to watch the card table, trying to determine how to play the game and if anyone is cheating. Insight: 7.
Álfarr's beard shifts as he smiles about a second after Esther's joke, as if remembering that he's supposed to visibly react to those sorts of things. Clearly, it's been some time since he's engaged in any sort of extended conversation with anyone. He almost looks like he's starting to consider standing up again, but he takes a short breath and makes himself keep talking. "The fog is... uncomfortable, yes." He nods in agreement. "I would also... prefer to be outside— out of doors...? Being inside is nice sometimes, like... like now. But out of doors is nicer. I like the trees and mountains." He looks over at the man Esther indicated, beard twitching in another smile. "I think... it's better to be lost in drinks rather than outside right now. Disoriented." He shakes his head and turns back to Esther, watching her hands for a moment. "You..." He glances at the fire. Struggles to make conversation. "You, uh... you like the fire?"
Nailed it.
"Huh? How did you know who I wa..Oh you overheard. Ah yes. Sorry I didn't see you there. Uh well I'm a professor of history if you will. Specializing in the arcane history of giants actually. Kosef you said? Well it is a pleasure to meet you. You look like you don't see that much sunlight. Are you from around here? Please have a seat. I'm just having a chat with my neighbor who's name I haven't caught yet." And he gestures to the other patron next to him at the bar.
"Tremendously!" Esther replies with an expression of delight that suggests that Álfarr did, in fact, nail it. "And I have reason to suspect it rather likes me as well!"
She leans in furtively, sparing a glance for the woman who still has not chosen to join their conversation. She reclaims her wand from her pocket and whispers, with a rather girlish enthusiasm antithetical to the somber expression she had born only moments before, "Would you like to see?"