Valen was, like many within The Bastion, a lost soul of the world brought within sheltering walls. Raised from early childhood, the order of warrior-healers was the only family known. When his time came, he joined his fellow initiates in a grand selection where the High Priest searched the souls of each and compared the spark of life with the steel of the soul. Though it was not a life sentence or a social casting, The Bastion separated members into Walls and Hands: Protectors and Healers, respectively. As Valen approached, the High Priest gazed deep into the child's eyes before proclaiming, "Blessed!". Senior members rose in cheer while Valen was left with questions.
The following morning, Valen was thrown from his bed by a raging drillmaster, given a practice sword and shield, then drilled from dusk to dawn for months. Before his first year was over, he served as a squire in battle. His task was simple: hold the line, let nothing pass. The Walls were protectors of the wounded, regardless of race, creed, or alliance. Where they went, Hands would also be close to tend to those sheltered from harm.
After his first taste of battle, Valen was shuffled away from the drill field and into a church to learn. He studied medicine, religion, history, strategy. It became clear they were grooming him to become a commander, but why? In his next experience of combat, Valen's role was now that of an apprentice Hand. His party was tasked to guard a merchant wagon. The wagon was ambushed and gnolls flooded forth from nearby brush. Valen was tending to a comrade's wound when one of the beasts broke through and charged. The immediate reaction took over and Valen grabbed a shield to block the charge. Instead, he blacked out and woke up where he stood before, the battle over. His shield radiated a magnificent light and the charging gnoll was now a smoldering heap. It was upon returning that the High Priest told Valen of his parentage and released him to the world to spread the good works of The Bastion and send word of troubles in the world.
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
Our players will be: Barlow - Playing Valen Simmon - Playing Aio Laurender - Playing Haseren Joe - Playing Erdan BDaddLy - Playing Dahme'dre
It was an incredibly strong field and there are some wonderful characters left out. I have added all those who have applied to the wait-list and I will contact them to test their interest before re-opening recruitment, should there be another vacancy.
Please add your characters as soon as is convenient. In creating them, remember that unless otherwise included in your history, your characters are likely on hard times along with the rest of what's left of the Empire.
The scene setting post will immediately follow this one. Thank you again one and all for putting your hands up to join me on this new adventure.
The evening brings an early chill to the streets of Thar, a cold wind from the mountains far to the east seeming to cut through cloak and coat alike. It howls past the walls of the Imperial Palace, where in the highest spires the royal inner circle drinks and debauches on the lingering remnants of a kingdom's wealth. It rustles the awnings of market stalls, boarded up for the night but long ago ceasing to boast the wealth of a dozen subjugated regions. Its touch causes the wretches in the sprawling slums to adjust their threadbare blankets or simply huddle deeper into the meager shelter of doorways or the dubious comfort of benches in once fine parks.
The sun having set an hour ago, you are each approaching the Cleft Skybreaker Tavern, deep in what was once the Merchant's District. Brought out into the cold this night by Duchess Bizmaria's summons, you arrive carrying whatever you could gather for a long journey ahead. You have met only once, at the brief selection where, suspiciously, it seemed no others were keen to take up Bizmaria's call. Odd, given the vast riches she promised and her reputation among the people for largess and fairness.
Entering the tavern (separately) you would find it solidly built and maintained, albeit the latter more through elbow grease and care than resources. A half dozen circular tables are scattered around the Cleft, but only two have patrons and these have the look of regulars, deep into their cups. Garrack, a tall thin man with warm eyes and a sad smile stands behind the counter, polishing and repolishing gleaming copper cups with more than one dent beaten out of them. The tavern isn't precisely cold, but nor is it warm, the fire burning in the solitary hearth consuming what looks to be salvagewood. The capital had long since clearcut all wood nearby and with the Withering making organised forestry impossible further out, heating wood was now a luxury few could afford.
Duchess Bizmaria is nowhere to be found, but a table with six chairs in a corner sits beneath a 'Reserved' flag of carved maple and Garrack indicates it with a nod as each of you enter.
Dahme'dre is fairly short for a human female, however her regal nature and sheer force of character give her an almost imposing appearance. Her long dark hair is worn loose, framing her beautiful face and accenting her fair skin.
She wears a fine blue riding dress and hood with dark embroidery around the trim. She is covered modestly, but her feminine figure is apparent through the layers. She carries a carved wooden walking staff with a deep blue crystal adorning the top.
She enters the tavern a little early, humming a quiet tune to seek Guidance from her family's patron, almost by habit. As she takes her seat she motions toward the fire in the nearby hearth and it warms and brightens under her Thaumaturgy.
(Seems the link for the campaign is not working. Could you try re-posting it? It keeps giving me an Internal Server Error)
Valen carries a powerful build under his mail and cloak. Easily standing a few inches taller and broader than most people, one would not expect a gentle demeanor from a priest of a war god. As he enters the tavern, though, his youthful naivete shows through his lost eyes. When Garrack directs him toward the reserved table, Valen stops by the bar and plants five silver coins in a polished cup, "Service to others reaps rewards twice over. I will be sure to write The Bastion and let them know of your hospitality. Should they come one day and identify themselves, say Valen the Blessed has vouched for you and you will receive whatever aid they can provide."
The priest carries a broad arming sword on his right hip, a sturdy field axe on the left, and a shield slung over his shoulder covering a modest pack of supplies. He drops his cloak and pack by the fire, but keeps his shield and weapons handy as he sits across from Dahme'dre, "So...come here often?"
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
(Well, because I'm poor, I only have access to the basic content of DDB. Would anyone be able to enable content sharing?)
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
Aio landed in the street adjacent to the tavern. She quickly wrapped her black traveling cloak tight around her shoulders and put the hood up to ward off the chill and curious eyes.
She was an Aarakocra woman of average build and unremarkable in every way, except that she was the color of pitch. Aarakocra are never naturally black in color, save those cursed to bring bad luck to their tribe. She hadn't always looked like this, but she dealt with it as best she could. It was a good thing few besides the Aarakocra knew why she had black feathers, though. Otherwise life would be even harder than it already was.
Aio entered the tavern and looked around at its occupants. Humans, all of them. She attracted some gazes initially, but a blank stare in their direction was enough to convince them to mind their own business. It was hard to look into the expressionless face of an Aarakocra for too long, especially one reminiscent of a raven, the universal symbol of death.
Aio was unperturbed by the stares, however. She mostly wished to avoid ruffling any feathers. She was here because a great reward was offered for those who could complete a quest. She had no desire for riches, she just knew that riches brought fools seeking them. Fools who would doubtlessly need protection.
Aio didn't consider herself particularly skilled at combat, but she knew how to keep a level head. That was a big part of a fight. She had also lived longer than any of these humans present ever would, which gave her more experience at... Well, life. Or maybe she was just as much a fool as the rest of them.
She made her way to an empty table and took a seat and waited for the others to arrive, focusing on her breathing. Meditation was new to her, but it was the only way she could combat the nerves that constantly plagued her.
Dahme'dre nods to Valen, as she looks him over. "A Bastion? You'll come in very handy. I'm Dahme'dre d'Lyric. I suppose we'll take a moment for more formal introductions once everyone arrives."
As the Arakocra enters she smiles at the Raven figure. Though the meeting rooms and halls of her family home depict the, once common, songbirds of her homeland, the clever Raven has persisted and thrived. This motif is also familiar, and not at all uncommon in less public spaces of her family's home.
(Forgot to ask as well: What is the guidance for stats (rolled, standard, point, etc.)? Also, I only have access to Life domain in DDB, so would you mind if I just put the lvl 1-20 feature progression for a War Cleric in my Misc info?)
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
Valen gives a smile, "You know of my order, then I suppose I can shorten the introduction. The Bastion is build of strong Walls that shelter the fallen and diligent Hands which ease the world's pain. Blessed are those given works of both to do great deeds in the world. I am Valen, Blessed of The Bastion, and you are?" His eye is caught by the black-feathered newcomer. As Aio comes to the table, Valen leans in to the others with a knowing grin, "Crows and ravens are always found on battlefields. One is a scavenger, the other a wise messenger and escort of the glorified dead."
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
The conversation at the other table was heard and dismissed by the solitary Aarakocra. She continued her meditation, content to let the other members of the group arrive and chat before going over. She was not a skilled conversationalist after so many years away from her people. When everyone arrived, she would approach and greet the others.
If they were her people, she would have leapt at the chance to even be in the same room with them, though that chance was long gone. The other races, especially humans, were a poor substitute for family. They weren't undeserving of compassion, however. It was just a skill she had yet to acquire, for all her introspection .
((Valen, I believe Joe has activated content sharing which means you should have access to War Domain now. If not, let me know and I'll buy it. ))
Garrock blinks as Valen extends the cup full of silver pieces toward him. Generosity is near unheard of in this dark time. Generosity with coin even more so. The tavern keeper peers at the gratuity for several seconds, as if convinced it will disappear or sprout fangs and assault him. Then, with a respectful tug of his forelock and a deep bow, he accepts the profferred silver.
The other patrons at the tavern pay those of the party who have arrived little mind, largely focused as they are on their own mugs and their own sorrows. A few of the less inebriated tarverngoes cast the odd glance at Aio, an Aarakocra being a rare sight in the lowlands. No one says anything however. Life is cheap, but not so cheap as to risk it by needlessly antagonizing a well armed group not yet in their cups.
The thaumaturgy cast by Dahme'dre is not quite potent enough to fully heat the room, but significantly increases the ambient temperature nonetheless. Few are sober or alert enough to notice the change. Garrock however, who knows the ways of his tavern better than he knows those of his own two feet immediately picks up on the alteration and deduces its source. A round appears at the parties table without order or payment, delivered by a dwarven barmaid with severe buns of auburn hair and a tired, world-weary face.
Erdan tends to favor his elven half more, standing only 5ft tall with a fairly lean build. His smile is usually what people notice first. It is almost infectious. Another odd trait he has is one few people ever see. When standing in the noon day sun, people claim his upper has an odd sheen to it, almost like gold.
But thats not something you would see today. He enters the tavern bundled in a dark heavy traveling cloak and simple clothes on underneath. He has two daggers visable on either side of his waist.
He gives a smile and wink to Garrack, then saunters over to the reserved table.
"Well, hello there. What a eclectic bunch of adventurers are we! So, who else are we waiting for?"
(I made a character, but I'm still debating on spells, I'll finalize tonight after the little one goes to bed. I'll update with point buy as well. I enabled content sharing. I have the phb, mm, and dmg on here.)
Dahme'dre welcomes the drinks as she raises the mug toward Garrak. As they wait, her pen, held by a spectral Mage Hand, scratches notes and drawings into a small ledger.
She greets Erdan when he approaches. "Hello to you too. I believe we will number five when the last of us arrives." She offers one of the mugs to the man. Another she pushes toward the corner of the table closest to Aio without looking her way, like trying to lure in a pigeon with bread crumbs.
Looking about, Valen sizes everyone up, "Eclectic is a word for it, yes. Let's see..." He points to Erdan, "Smily," then to Dahme'dre, "Broody," and to Aio, "Birdy, and then..." He moves a hand over his mug and the drink begins to shine like a lantern, "Shiny."
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
The door to the tavern is gently opened from without, and the Duchess Bizmaria slips swiftly inside. The regal elf is dressed in finely cut leather armor, golden scrollwork tasteful etched along its dark brown curves. Her hair, purest silver, is neatly bound in a complex braid wrapped around her slender neck like a scarf. Unusually for a noble, even in these troubled times, she carries her hornbow in hand, the quiver at her waist brimming with shafts.
She looks weary and under strain, but her face breaks into a radiant smile when she spots the four of you at your designated table. She moves toward you swiftly, pausing only to exchange a few grateful words with the Tavern keeper, to whom she slips coins too quickly for you to count their denomination or quantity.
Taking a free seat at the table, she turns it slightly so that she has full view of both the front and rear doors of the tavern before allowing herself to relax somewhat. Perhaps more accurately, she relaxes from being taunt as a violin string to merely the weariness of a cat in unfamiliar territory.
She surveys you at a glance, blinking when she realizes there are only four. Then she laughs self-deprecatingly, "Only a fool or a dreamer expects a barbarian to be punctual, I suppose." Turning to those of you already present she smiles warmly, gratitude breaking through the mask of stress and anxiety which otherwise lies upon her features like a funeral shawl. "Thank you for answering the call, my friends. Things have grown more... complex, politically since I conceived of this endeavor but my determination to succeed has not wavered. I hope yours will not either, now nor on the road."
Valen, Scourge Aasimar (War) Cleric
Valen was, like many within The Bastion, a lost soul of the world brought within sheltering walls. Raised from early childhood, the order of warrior-healers was the only family known. When his time came, he joined his fellow initiates in a grand selection where the High Priest searched the souls of each and compared the spark of life with the steel of the soul. Though it was not a life sentence or a social casting, The Bastion separated members into Walls and Hands: Protectors and Healers, respectively. As Valen approached, the High Priest gazed deep into the child's eyes before proclaiming, "Blessed!". Senior members rose in cheer while Valen was left with questions.
The following morning, Valen was thrown from his bed by a raging drillmaster, given a practice sword and shield, then drilled from dusk to dawn for months. Before his first year was over, he served as a squire in battle. His task was simple: hold the line, let nothing pass. The Walls were protectors of the wounded, regardless of race, creed, or alliance. Where they went, Hands would also be close to tend to those sheltered from harm.
After his first taste of battle, Valen was shuffled away from the drill field and into a church to learn. He studied medicine, religion, history, strategy. It became clear they were grooming him to become a commander, but why? In his next experience of combat, Valen's role was now that of an apprentice Hand. His party was tasked to guard a merchant wagon. The wagon was ambushed and gnolls flooded forth from nearby brush. Valen was tending to a comrade's wound when one of the beasts broke through and charged. The immediate reaction took over and Valen grabbed a shield to block the charge. Instead, he blacked out and woke up where he stood before, the battle over. His shield radiated a magnificent light and the charging gnoll was now a smoldering heap. It was upon returning that the High Priest told Valen of his parentage and released him to the world to spread the good works of The Bastion and send word of troubles in the world.
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
Thanks all, I am going to close recruitment at this post and evaluate all applications to choose the party.
I'll be aiming for a bit of class balance, so please don't feel like not being selected is a comment on your application.
The party has been chosen.
Our players will be:
Barlow - Playing Valen
Simmon - Playing Aio
Laurender - Playing Haseren
Joe - Playing Erdan
BDaddLy - Playing Dahme'dre
It was an incredibly strong field and there are some wonderful characters left out. I have added all those who have applied to the wait-list and I will contact them to test their interest before re-opening recruitment, should there be another vacancy.
For those selected the campaign link is here: https://ddb.ac/campaigns/join/1246902523287039
Please add your characters as soon as is convenient. In creating them, remember that unless otherwise included in your history, your characters are likely on hard times along with the rest of what's left of the Empire.
The scene setting post will immediately follow this one. Thank you again one and all for putting your hands up to join me on this new adventure.
The evening brings an early chill to the streets of Thar, a cold wind from the mountains far to the east seeming to cut through cloak and coat alike. It howls past the walls of the Imperial Palace, where in the highest spires the royal inner circle drinks and debauches on the lingering remnants of a kingdom's wealth. It rustles the awnings of market stalls, boarded up for the night but long ago ceasing to boast the wealth of a dozen subjugated regions. Its touch causes the wretches in the sprawling slums to adjust their threadbare blankets or simply huddle deeper into the meager shelter of doorways or the dubious comfort of benches in once fine parks.
The sun having set an hour ago, you are each approaching the Cleft Skybreaker Tavern, deep in what was once the Merchant's District. Brought out into the cold this night by Duchess Bizmaria's summons, you arrive carrying whatever you could gather for a long journey ahead. You have met only once, at the brief selection where, suspiciously, it seemed no others were keen to take up Bizmaria's call. Odd, given the vast riches she promised and her reputation among the people for largess and fairness.
Entering the tavern (separately) you would find it solidly built and maintained, albeit the latter more through elbow grease and care than resources. A half dozen circular tables are scattered around the Cleft, but only two have patrons and these have the look of regulars, deep into their cups. Garrack, a tall thin man with warm eyes and a sad smile stands behind the counter, polishing and repolishing gleaming copper cups with more than one dent beaten out of them. The tavern isn't precisely cold, but nor is it warm, the fire burning in the solitary hearth consuming what looks to be salvagewood. The capital had long since clearcut all wood nearby and with the Withering making organised forestry impossible further out, heating wood was now a luxury few could afford.
Duchess Bizmaria is nowhere to be found, but a table with six chairs in a corner sits beneath a 'Reserved' flag of carved maple and Garrack indicates it with a nod as each of you enter.
Dahme'dre is fairly short for a human female, however her regal nature and sheer force of character give her an almost imposing appearance. Her long dark hair is worn loose, framing her beautiful face and accenting her fair skin.
She wears a fine blue riding dress and hood with dark embroidery around the trim. She is covered modestly, but her feminine figure is apparent through the layers. She carries a carved wooden walking staff with a deep blue crystal adorning the top.
She enters the tavern a little early, humming a quiet tune to seek Guidance from her family's patron, almost by habit. As she takes her seat she motions toward the fire in the nearby hearth and it warms and brightens under her Thaumaturgy.
Extended Signature
If anyone's having trouble with the link copy and paste this: https:/ddb.ac/campaigns/join/1246902523287039
Extended Signature
(Seems the link for the campaign is not working. Could you try re-posting it? It keeps giving me an Internal Server Error)
Valen carries a powerful build under his mail and cloak. Easily standing a few inches taller and broader than most people, one would not expect a gentle demeanor from a priest of a war god. As he enters the tavern, though, his youthful naivete shows through his lost eyes. When Garrack directs him toward the reserved table, Valen stops by the bar and plants five silver coins in a polished cup, "Service to others reaps rewards twice over. I will be sure to write The Bastion and let them know of your hospitality. Should they come one day and identify themselves, say Valen the Blessed has vouched for you and you will receive whatever aid they can provide."
The priest carries a broad arming sword on his right hip, a sturdy field axe on the left, and a shield slung over his shoulder covering a modest pack of supplies. He drops his cloak and pack by the fire, but keeps his shield and weapons handy as he sits across from Dahme'dre, "So...come here often?"
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
(Well, because I'm poor, I only have access to the basic content of DDB. Would anyone be able to enable content sharing?)
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
Aio landed in the street adjacent to the tavern. She quickly wrapped her black traveling cloak tight around her shoulders and put the hood up to ward off the chill and curious eyes.
She was an Aarakocra woman of average build and unremarkable in every way, except that she was the color of pitch. Aarakocra are never naturally black in color, save those cursed to bring bad luck to their tribe. She hadn't always looked like this, but she dealt with it as best she could. It was a good thing few besides the Aarakocra knew why she had black feathers, though. Otherwise life would be even harder than it already was.
Aio entered the tavern and looked around at its occupants. Humans, all of them. She attracted some gazes initially, but a blank stare in their direction was enough to convince them to mind their own business. It was hard to look into the expressionless face of an Aarakocra for too long, especially one reminiscent of a raven, the universal symbol of death.
Aio was unperturbed by the stares, however. She mostly wished to avoid ruffling any feathers. She was here because a great reward was offered for those who could complete a quest. She had no desire for riches, she just knew that riches brought fools seeking them. Fools who would doubtlessly need protection.
Aio didn't consider herself particularly skilled at combat, but she knew how to keep a level head. That was a big part of a fight. She had also lived longer than any of these humans present ever would, which gave her more experience at... Well, life. Or maybe she was just as much a fool as the rest of them.
She made her way to an empty table and took a seat and waited for the others to arrive, focusing on her breathing. Meditation was new to her, but it was the only way she could combat the nerves that constantly plagued her.
Pit of Vipers: Watl Wiggins - Halfling Rogue(10)
League of Improbable Adventurers: Alan Quatermain - Human Fighter(3)
Dahme'dre nods to Valen, as she looks him over. "A Bastion? You'll come in very handy. I'm Dahme'dre d'Lyric. I suppose we'll take a moment for more formal introductions once everyone arrives."
As the Arakocra enters she smiles at the Raven figure. Though the meeting rooms and halls of her family home depict the, once common, songbirds of her homeland, the clever Raven has persisted and thrived. This motif is also familiar, and not at all uncommon in less public spaces of her family's home.
Extended Signature
(Forgot to ask as well: What is the guidance for stats (rolled, standard, point, etc.)? Also, I only have access to Life domain in DDB, so would you mind if I just put the lvl 1-20 feature progression for a War Cleric in my Misc info?)
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
Valen gives a smile, "You know of my order, then I suppose I can shorten the introduction. The Bastion is build of strong Walls that shelter the fallen and diligent Hands which ease the world's pain. Blessed are those given works of both to do great deeds in the world. I am Valen, Blessed of The Bastion, and you are?" His eye is caught by the black-feathered newcomer. As Aio comes to the table, Valen leans in to the others with a knowing grin, "Crows and ravens are always found on battlefields. One is a scavenger, the other a wise messenger and escort of the glorified dead."
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
The conversation at the other table was heard and dismissed by the solitary Aarakocra. She continued her meditation, content to let the other members of the group arrive and chat before going over. She was not a skilled conversationalist after so many years away from her people. When everyone arrived, she would approach and greet the others.
If they were her people, she would have leapt at the chance to even be in the same room with them, though that chance was long gone. The other races, especially humans, were a poor substitute for family. They weren't undeserving of compassion, however. It was just a skill she had yet to acquire, for all her introspection .
Pit of Vipers: Watl Wiggins - Halfling Rogue(10)
League of Improbable Adventurers: Alan Quatermain - Human Fighter(3)
((For stats, please use the points buy method.))
((Valen, I believe Joe has activated content sharing which means you should have access to War Domain now. If not, let me know and I'll buy it. ))
Garrock blinks as Valen extends the cup full of silver pieces toward him. Generosity is near unheard of in this dark time. Generosity with coin even more so. The tavern keeper peers at the gratuity for several seconds, as if convinced it will disappear or sprout fangs and assault him. Then, with a respectful tug of his forelock and a deep bow, he accepts the profferred silver.
The other patrons at the tavern pay those of the party who have arrived little mind, largely focused as they are on their own mugs and their own sorrows. A few of the less inebriated tarverngoes cast the odd glance at Aio, an Aarakocra being a rare sight in the lowlands. No one says anything however. Life is cheap, but not so cheap as to risk it by needlessly antagonizing a well armed group not yet in their cups.
The thaumaturgy cast by Dahme'dre is not quite potent enough to fully heat the room, but significantly increases the ambient temperature nonetheless. Few are sober or alert enough to notice the change. Garrock however, who knows the ways of his tavern better than he knows those of his own two feet immediately picks up on the alteration and deduces its source. A round appears at the parties table without order or payment, delivered by a dwarven barmaid with severe buns of auburn hair and a tired, world-weary face.
Erdan tends to favor his elven half more, standing only 5ft tall with a fairly lean build. His smile is usually what people notice first. It is almost infectious. Another odd trait he has is one few people ever see. When standing in the noon day sun, people claim his upper has an odd sheen to it, almost like gold.
But thats not something you would see today. He enters the tavern bundled in a dark heavy traveling cloak and simple clothes on underneath. He has two daggers visable on either side of his waist.
He gives a smile and wink to Garrack, then saunters over to the reserved table.
"Well, hello there. What a eclectic bunch of adventurers are we! So, who else are we waiting for?"
(I made a character, but I'm still debating on spells, I'll finalize tonight after the little one goes to bed. I'll update with point buy as well. I enabled content sharing. I have the phb, mm, and dmg on here.)
Dahme'dre welcomes the drinks as she raises the mug toward Garrak. As they wait, her pen, held by a spectral Mage Hand, scratches notes and drawings into a small ledger.
She greets Erdan when he approaches. "Hello to you too. I believe we will number five when the last of us arrives." She offers one of the mugs to the man. Another she pushes toward the corner of the table closest to Aio without looking her way, like trying to lure in a pigeon with bread crumbs.
Extended Signature
Looking about, Valen sizes everyone up, "Eclectic is a word for it, yes. Let's see..." He points to Erdan, "Smily," then to Dahme'dre, "Broody," and to Aio, "Birdy, and then..." He moves a hand over his mug and the drink begins to shine like a lantern, "Shiny."
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
"Broody? Have you been reading my diary?" An unnatural gust flutters the pages and flips the ledger shut. She gives Valen a wry smirk.
Extended Signature
The door to the tavern is gently opened from without, and the Duchess Bizmaria slips swiftly inside. The regal elf is dressed in finely cut leather armor, golden scrollwork tasteful etched along its dark brown curves. Her hair, purest silver, is neatly bound in a complex braid wrapped around her slender neck like a scarf. Unusually for a noble, even in these troubled times, she carries her hornbow in hand, the quiver at her waist brimming with shafts.
She looks weary and under strain, but her face breaks into a radiant smile when she spots the four of you at your designated table. She moves toward you swiftly, pausing only to exchange a few grateful words with the Tavern keeper, to whom she slips coins too quickly for you to count their denomination or quantity.
Taking a free seat at the table, she turns it slightly so that she has full view of both the front and rear doors of the tavern before allowing herself to relax somewhat. Perhaps more accurately, she relaxes from being taunt as a violin string to merely the weariness of a cat in unfamiliar territory.
She surveys you at a glance, blinking when she realizes there are only four. Then she laughs self-deprecatingly, "Only a fool or a dreamer expects a barbarian to be punctual, I suppose." Turning to those of you already present she smiles warmly, gratitude breaking through the mask of stress and anxiety which otherwise lies upon her features like a funeral shawl. "Thank you for answering the call, my friends. Things have grown more... complex, politically since I conceived of this endeavor but my determination to succeed has not wavered. I hope yours will not either, now nor on the road."
((The world map - Map))