A light rain can be heard falling outside the two-story Broken Barrel tavern. The patrons inside hardly notice as they enjoy their drinks. Although the main room is filled with tables and chairs to accommodate as many customers as possible it has never been full. The reason for this is the two other rooms that can be reached by passing through stone arches to the left and right of the main room. A well crafted wooden bar runs the length of the three rooms against the back wall. There are two doors behind the bar, one leading to what one would guess is a storage or supply room, and the other opens into the kitchen, which is evident as the serving wenches are occasionally exiting with orders of food.
Through a stone arch to the left the occasional shout or uncouth exclamation can be heard emanating from the game room where some patrons are placing small bets as others test their skills tossing daggers at one of the three target boards on the far wall. This room is smaller than the other two but has a longer rectangular shape ideal for playing such games with daggers or darts.
The common room to the right can also be reached through a stone arch. A large rectangular wooden table dominates the center of this room and several cushioned benches line the walls, a large fireplace set into the eastern most wall provides a cozy warmth that spreads throughout the entire tavern, and a staircase in the northeast corner leads to the rooms upstairs.
The owner and barkeep, Grunder, a middle-aged slightly overweight human, is serving drinks from behind the bar. While more than half a dozen wenches can be seen moving between tables and from room to room, taking drink orders and serving food. Those wenches who aren't quite quick enough to avoid the wandering hands of patrons who have drank more than their fair share don't seem to mind overly much and can be seen laughing and joining in with the general spirit of revelry that pervades the Broken Barrel.
(Players may formally introduce your characters as either just entering the tavern or already being there for a length of time.)
Watl sat with his back to the wall on a stool near the archway that led to the game room of The Broken Barrel. He was often overlooked by the serving women, but that was to be expected; he was only three feet tall. He wasn’t here for food, drink, games, or even companionship, however. He was here for information.
He had arrived in Ashborn a few hours ago and found his way to this tavern. It was a nice place; much nicer than the majority of the taverns he had frequented back in Ferrin, the place he had just come from. Ferrin had been his home for his whole life. It was a much bigger city than this little town, that was for sure. He had been a baron of the understreets, leader of his gang. Well, they had started out as street urchins and evolved into a gang and then been incorporated into something more closely resembling a guild, though without any official sanctions.
There were laws on the streets. Not the weak, breakable laws of a king or governor; but the immutable street law. There is a sort of honor among thieves. You don’t target someone else in the game. Not only that, but every city of note has an undercity or city of the shadows. They govern pretty much all the… questionable lines of business. Gambling, thieving, prostitution, assassination, etc. Watl was once an important guy in the undercity. Once being the operative word.
He fell out of favor with the ruling council of the undercity after an… incident, and was forced to leave rather quickly. That was why he was here, in Ashborn. It wasn’t nearly as large or as prominent as Ferrin, but he would deal with that. He was at The Broken Barrel to listen to the patrons and find out who ran the undercity in Ashborn. It shouldn’t take too long; most undercities were pretty common knowledge.
So here he sat, listening to conversations and trying not to stand out.
This could be a good thing. Maybe they need someone with my experience in a place like this. I could probably get a solid position within a few months. But it’s been two hours and I haven’t even heard a whisper of who might be running things around here! Maybe this place is too upscale…
Jianyu Mendoza is a wood elf starting into his ninth century. He stands a bit over 5 feet tall. He has grey skin, and green eyes. He wears a hooded cloak and simple clothes. He carries few possesions, a sturdy walking stick, a light pack with some mapping tools, and a knife on his belt. He also wears a simple silver ring on the smallest finger of his right hand.
Jianyu has lived a very very long life, sired children, watched his grand children grow into.. well, into their own messes. He's seen nations rise and fall Human and Elven alike, and Elven nations don't fall often.
Now he just wanted to get away for awhile. In the forest his kin always sought his guidance and his wisdom, which was absurd given how rarely he granted it. Truth be told, while his body showed signs of his age, his mind was slipping too. He needed some stimulus. In the forest it was always, "Let us get you a chair, Grandfather" "Maybe you should lie down and rest, Grandfather." He'd had enough. He was out in the world again.
How long had it been since he left? Couldn't be more than a couple of decades. He could stand to sit down for a few, when he thought of it... There was a tavern ahead. He'd hurry inside, get a drink, and relax. If he daudled long, some fools would think him a beggar; start tossing him coins, just 'cause of his aged appearance... The girls here didn't seem to wear much. Styles changed so often.
Lavasha Opennea, although he prefers to be addressed as Lav, walks down the streets of Ashborn with a very sweaty face, looking around to see if there might be anyone suspicious around who might pose a problem. Accursed Goblins, he thinks. He didn't intend to enter the city during night and would have much more desired to come to the city when the sun still shines. To his misfortune, a group of those green painted Dwarves suddenly attacked his camp. Luckily, he managed to snatch his bag before he ran away, but...he had to leave his orange juice behind. Cursed Gobbos, he thinks once again. Not knowing whether they still chased him, Lav ran into the city, albeit reluctantly.
While he makes sure that he isn't suddenly attacked, Lavasha Opennea looks out for something to drink; running for his life certainly didn't help his thirst. Finally he came across a building that could provide him with it. "The Broken Barrel", he mumbles. Hah, what a fitting name, he thinks. That improved his mood, slightly. He walks through the door, when a loud noise startles him. He already readies himself to fi...run away, that is until he sees nothing that indicates a battle in that direction. Instead, he sees a red beared mountain dwarf sitting at his table with a mug in hand.
Lav shakes his head and keeps moving, although he gives the dwarf an annoyed look. Lav sits at one empty table and signals to one of the wenches that he wants to order. "Good evening, miss. I would like to order a cup of orange juice", he asks nicely. (Being rude to the one bringing you your food or drink is never a smart thing to do )The wench blinks twice before telling him that they don't offer any, which made him blink twice. Lav sighs, " Fine, I will take a cup of apple juice, then." The wench shows the same reaction. "Just give me water", Lav says dejectedly.
Zack sits alone at a table in the corner of the main room, doodling away at a notebook. He is a half-elf dressed in blue. He wears a cloak over his blue clothes. A sheathed sword (re-skinned rapier) hangs from his belt to his left.
Zack's family once was a very powerful noble house but now, they have lost almost all of their wealth and influence. Their family castle is now used as a boarding home. However, their name is still recognized and even respected. During his teen years Zack gained a burning passion for the arcane arts but he never could find any books to teach him to cast spells. Now in his early 20s, he has come to Ashborn hearing about it's history. "Maybe there will be some ancient books from which I can learn the arcane arts." He has arrived earlier today and has been getting his bearings in the tavern for the past 3 hours.
A mountain dwarf sits in the corner of the main room at a table by himself. Its clear but the empty mugs, he’s been drinking ale for a while. At the current moment he is talking with a certain wench that has caught his eye. A long dark red beard hangs from the chin and his head is shaved. A large scar runs along the right side of his head. The dwarf is clad in heavy bronze chain mail. Numerous small blue and gold ribbons are interlaced to the links on my chain mail across the right chest, possibly awards for service. Dark brown leather covers the rest of his body. Although the leather is worn, his boots have been well taken care of. A warhammer and shield are propped against the table upright. The warhammer has a glowing blue jewel in the bottom of the handle, almost magically glowing. A small cross bow, cocked and ready, dangles from the belt at his waist. I constinitly look around the room sizing up the other parties coming and going.
Put your spoiler here.
I am Vosnin Emberlight. I was part of my clans security, the Iron Watch, at the mines. The mining operation was for gold and iron. Very lucrative, but only the heads of the operation saw the money. I was the leader of “dark operations.” Dark operations included interrogation and apprehension of criminals on and off site. Many criminals have been caught and dealt with under my watch, many personally by myself. I began my work for the protection of the mines and my perpetuance for violence, but I’ve learned money is far more important to me than loyalty. I am here for myself and to fill my pockets with gold, no matter whose blood I spill.
Clad in hooded leather armor, with a light crossbow on her back and a handaxe slung at her right hip, a youngish woman glides into the main room from the gaming room, her eyes darting from face to face as she scans for newcomers. She's clearly looking for someone. The calm confidence in her stance and her right hand that never strays far from the axe at her side suggests she's ready for a fight if she finds them.
Suddenly, her eyes lock on the bald dwarf. Her eyes narrow and she moves directly toward his table in the corner. "Is that you Vosnin? I haven't seen you in years! I believe you were a friend of my mother, Joana Yojah. I'm her daughter, Jah'nun. You probably don't remember me." Giving him a warm smile and offering to buy him another round, she says, "She's one of the best fighters in the city guard, although she says that if you had ever joined, you would have given her a run for her money." She pulls out a chair to the left of the dwarf. "Actually, when I was dropping off my latest bounty, a real dirt bag lemme tell you, I spoke to my mother and she said she'd heard that you were around." Crossing her long, leather clad legs as she sits, uninvited, her eyes widen at the large scar on his head. She signals a serving wench for drinks, and says in an awed voice, "That's new! I bet there's a great story behind that!"
Kaltent stands in the game room, awaiting his turn to throw a dagger at one of the boards. He is of average height, and forgettable in appearance. His hairs is brown and well-kept, with blue eyes, but no specific features stand out as particularly memorable. Which is perfect in his opinion. His current outfit mirrors the trend, being a typical peasants garb for this part of the world, with nothing to mark it out as worth noticing.
He fiddles with the gold coin in his hands, rolling it along his fingers as he waits his turn, bouncing slightly on his feet. It's been to long since he made a sale, and his funds are getting low. He needs to get back out and find something else he can sell to get some income again.
I look up and watch Jah’nun approaching my table. I sit up and down the rest of my ale as the prospect of a free round is now offered. I reach out to shake your hand.
“Of course I remember you Jah’nun. How’s your mother?” I ask. “I don’t think there would have been anyone left alive for the other guys to deal with if I had teamed up with Joana.” I take a swig of ale that was brought over. I run my hand over the scar. “This old thing? I got this on the last attack at the mines. I will say that bugbear was pretty handy with an axe, but not after I crushed his skull.” I take another drink and look over at my warhammer. The blue gem slightly brightens in the hilt. “I left the mines soon after that. What brings you to these parts? Not exactly the kind of place I would have guessed you’d end up.” I keep glancing off toward the door as people enter and leave.
Cavyre sits in the far corner of the main room, watching everyone and occasionally scribbling things in his notebook and sipping his drink as he watches everyone with piercing eyes. A tallish, somewhat odd looking creature, with snow white hair, grey eyes, dark red skin, and two small horns coming out of his forehead. He wears a light grey robe with a large hood that covers his head, and a strange necklace with intricate symbols that no one can figure out but him. He always has his well worn leather notebook and quill, magically modified to not need ink to write for convenience. A staff (his arcane focus), leans against the wall next to him, and he has two daggers strapped to his legs, which are hidden by his robe, and a crossbow and bolts next to the staff.
DM for:Reign of VillainsPlayer for:Tildian Hopsprite - Halfling Warlock 1 (Smiles all around!)Sen'ra Esghal - Fire Genasi Barbarian, Path of the Berserker 4 (Adventurers never rests!) (Angry and drunk.) Silthen Ehten - Drow Elf Storm Sorcerer 1 (The Search For The Sacred Shards)
Sitting back in my seat, I whistle an impressed sound. "A bugbear, huh?" I shake my head in amazement. "My mother tells stories of those with her mates in the guard sometimes, but I've never even seen one." As the door opens and a slight gust of wind blows in some rain and another customer, I look him over briefly, and then dismiss him. Too short, wrong hair color, not him. Then I take a small sip of my drink and turn my attention back to Vosnin.
"She wanted me to join her in the guard, of course, but I... need more freedom of movement. Been doing a few odd bits of a work as a bounty hunter for a while now, keeping my options open, you might say." Through the arched stone doorway I see a curly haired wench relieving an inebriated scoundrel of his purse as he leans against a wall and smiles, besotted, into her pretty face. I take another drink and look away. "Of course, it's only a way to make a bit of coin while I pursue a more... personal mission." Changing the focus from herself quickly, Jah'nun nods at an ancient elf near the bar. "By Beshaba's forked beard! How is a fellow that old still standing? He looks like he couldn't even lift a mug!"
Cavyre spots Lav, finishes his drink, and takes his things and goes over to Lav. "Hello there. Sorry to intrude, but I saw you are realized we look alike. My name's Cavyre. You are? It's ok if you don't want to answer. Everyone needs privacy. I just wanted to ask if you hail from Essoterra, like I do. I've not seen a familiar looking face in ages, and I thought we might know each other? Not that this land is bad. Usually I tend to shy away from bar scenes, but this is a cozy place. You'll like it." Cavyre looks expectantly at Lav, with a glint of hope in his eyes.
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DM for:Reign of VillainsPlayer for:Tildian Hopsprite - Halfling Warlock 1 (Smiles all around!)Sen'ra Esghal - Fire Genasi Barbarian, Path of the Berserker 4 (Adventurers never rests!) (Angry and drunk.) Silthen Ehten - Drow Elf Storm Sorcerer 1 (The Search For The Sacred Shards)
".... well, just because I have a little faith, it doesn't mean I can't play a little cards," Bones replies with a smile as he deals out the next hand. There's a deftness to the way the cards are dealt, not quite on par with those of true card-sharks, but more than what is expected for someone dressed as he.
Bones is tall and a bit on the thin side, but one would only know that by the shape of his face given that he is covered in splint mail from shoulders to shin; his gauntlets are off to the side, next to his shield. A mace hangs from his belt loop and there seems to be some sort of amulet around his neck. The tunic he wears is mostly dark in tone, greys and blacks, matching the dark varnish given to the splint mail... but the lining of his tunic and clothing, although only barely noticeable, is bright and colorful. His boots are well worn, as if they have been on the move their entire lives - which, given the seeming air of their wearer, may not be far from the truth. The man's ears, pointed slightly at the end, seem to be positioned to hear every word said at that table, peering around as if they were trying to read the other players as one would read a book.
"My name? Well, that's because I had a fondness of playing knucklebones as a child - even then, I liked to gamble," he replies with a chuckle to the half heard question. Of all those at the table, he is by far the most boisterous - not quite so cloak and dagger as the other players. Bones turns to another of the players and with a wink at the end of it says, "You have lovely eyes, miss, unfortunately they did not warn you of the trouble in front of you." Bones shows his hand and collects his winnings.
"Well, it's a good thing I only just got into Ashburn, too many nights like this and you all might have been in the poorhouse!" then, before anyone can respond, Bones calls to the nearest waitress, "Excuse me miss, could you bring us a round of drinks on my tab, please?"
Then turning to the rest at the table, "It's the least I can do as an offering for the great luck I've been having tonight - share the wealth I say.... but not all of it!" He says it all with a grin.
I lean into Jahn as she tells me of her journey. I make note of her body language, that has told me a lot more about her business than her words have. It’s clear to me she waiting for someone. Someone that is not long for this world. I note this for future reference, but brush it off like I didn’t completely understand what she was speaking of. Exactly what Jaun wanted me to do. For now.....
I I lean back and laugh as we watch the old man leaned up against the bar. “People like that probably shouldn’t be put in these parts. Not a bad place, but a bad place for the vulnerable.” I take a big gulp of my drink finishing it off. I motion for another round for me and my new friend, though may be a little early to say for certain. “I learned real quick in this life you need to take what you need, but you have to have a code. I don’t like seeing people taken advantage of but they have thier own responsibility not to put themselves in a bad situation.”
I lean back in my chair, putting a little more of a stern look on my face. “So again, what brings you into town? Clearly you’re like myself and I’m need of a little coin. And as Thor and Odin knows, I have a few bounties on my head. Now I’m not saying I’m the one you’re looking for or anything like that. But I’ve made it quite a point not to run into the past very often. Never seems to turn out to be a cordial reunion of sorts.” I turn my head to crack my neck. I lean in to you putting my arms on top of the table. “I repect your mother and your family so I hope this is one of those rare cases.”
In a deceptively relaxed pose, one hand casually toying with the well-worn wood of my axe handle, I shrug. "The Mighty Vosnin Emberlight? I can't imagine a bounty being on your head." My eyes slide away from the lie. Nodding towards a small figure on a stool near the archway across the room, "Now THAT one, I'm sure I've seen on a "wanted" poster here, or back in Ferrin, maybe. Of course, I was just passing through and haven't really been keeping my hand in the game for a while now." I lock eyes with the halfling for a moment before looking back at the dwarf. Shaking my head, I push my mug away. "No. I'm not here for any bounties. I've heard rumors of... someone who has something that belongs to me. I think they may be involved with whoever is, unofficially, running this area." My eyes become iron hard. "I mean to find him, and claim what is mine." By her travel worn clothes and leathers it's obvious Jahn traveled for some time and lived rough along the way to get here. Determination practically rolls off her like the layers of dust on her boots.
Abruptly, a wry smile quirking my lips, I slap the table and stand. Then I gesture toward the games room. That's when the missing third knuckle on the ring finger of her left hand becomes apparent. "It's a bit too warm on this side of the room. How about some cards?"
"Damn! It looks like the game is yours my friend." Exclaims a short and slender figure in rather drab clothes. He puts a few copper in the hand of his darts opponent and takes a long drink from his mug of ale. Unbeknownst to his opponent, the tiefling threw their dart game. He just wanted to get a good look at his coin purse to see if 'acquiring' its contents were worth his trouble, they weren't. His slender tail ending in a spade sways absentmindedly as he takes a look around the bar.
His yellow eyes lock on the other two tieflings in the bar and he slinks into a shadow to hide his deep maroon skin. *Don't they know it's dangerous to have more than one hell-spawn gathered in a group. People get nervous fast.* He thinks to himself. He nervously taps his left ram-like horns as he looks for a potential mark. He smiles a thin, fanged smile when he sees the aged elf near the bar.
He slicks back his jet black hair and checks the daggers at his back and the rapier at his hip before walking over to the seat next to the elf. He sets down his bag, quiver, and shortbow between his legs, always keenly aware of where he places his possessions and that his coin purse is tucked into his belt. "Good day traveler. My name is Trust. What brings you to the Broken Barrel?" He raises his hand to signal to Grunder or a barmaid to bring two drinks over.
Huh. Two Tieflings sitting together. Maybe I’m in the right place, after all. They’ve gotta be in the underground.
Watl made his way over to the table with the two Tieflings, expertly dodging around the legs of serving women and keeping out of the way of patrons as they walked about. He hopped up into an unoccupied chair next to them and smiled a charming smile as the two looked at him.
“Hi there.” He said, picking up a fork from the table and twirling it around his fingers with practiced motions. “A hand can be clever but to a smile and a laugh you never say never.”
Watl looked expectantly at the two and was met with only blank stares. He almost frowned, but he kept his smile in place.
Hm. Maybe they use a Western thief-speak here.
Watl cleared his throat and tried again. “Far easier to die well than to live well, though promises and mirrors make the light shine brighter.”
He was again met with blank stares.
Alright, what in the world is going on in this place!?
“Excuse me.” The halfling said as he hopped down to the floor and walked back to his stool.
Great. Now I’ve made a fool of myself. Well, I’ve always been a fool, but a man’s illusions are his greatest treasures. What is wrong with this town? I’ve seen the serving women stealing from customers and there’s no doubt that prostitution is going on, also. There must be someone from the undercity pulling the strings around here. But where are they?
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Pit of Vipers: Watl Wiggins - Halfling Rogue(10) League of Improbable Adventurers: Alan Quatermain - Human Fighter(3)
“Lucky thing for you then, as I’m currently free of any jobs at the time being. A certain item of interest of mine has also came up missing recently. Now I don’t wish to point fingers without facts, but my patience are running rather thin. From my understanding it has passed hands multiple times and is now possibly in the area.” I lock eyes with Jaun. “Now if you’re looking for a partner in this endeavor, I’m sure we could help each other out.”
I stand up and collect my weaponary, strapping it to by back for the time being. “A game of cards sounds good to me if you’re up for losing a few coins.” I follow you toward the game room. I eye the tieflings throughout the room. Quite odd that many tieflings are congregating on the surface. I close in to Jaun and whisper, “what’s your thoughts on the hell spawn (slur for tieflings)? I’ve never had good luck with them myself.” I tuck my coin purse into my clothing.
Jianyu peers unflinching into the Trust's yellow eyes, with a quiet, understanding face and not a word. Either he can peer directly into your very soul, or he's lost in his own head. He gives a short nod and raises the drink to his new friend and takes a sip. He stands a moment to adjust himself before sitting again and produces no sound, no weapons, no armor... no coins? He gives Trust a knowing wink... or was that a grateful wink?
A light rain can be heard falling outside the two-story Broken Barrel tavern. The patrons inside hardly notice as they enjoy their drinks. Although the main room is filled with tables and chairs to accommodate as many customers as possible it has never been full. The reason for this is the two other rooms that can be reached by passing through stone arches to the left and right of the main room. A well crafted wooden bar runs the length of the three rooms against the back wall. There are two doors behind the bar, one leading to what one would guess is a storage or supply room, and the other opens into the kitchen, which is evident as the serving wenches are occasionally exiting with orders of food.
Through a stone arch to the left the occasional shout or uncouth exclamation can be heard emanating from the game room where some patrons are placing small bets as others test their skills tossing daggers at one of the three target boards on the far wall. This room is smaller than the other two but has a longer rectangular shape ideal for playing such games with daggers or darts.
The common room to the right can also be reached through a stone arch. A large rectangular wooden table dominates the center of this room and several cushioned benches line the walls, a large fireplace set into the eastern most wall provides a cozy warmth that spreads throughout the entire tavern, and a staircase in the northeast corner leads to the rooms upstairs.
The owner and barkeep, Grunder, a middle-aged slightly overweight human, is serving drinks from behind the bar. While more than half a dozen wenches can be seen moving between tables and from room to room, taking drink orders and serving food. Those wenches who aren't quite quick enough to avoid the wandering hands of patrons who have drank more than their fair share don't seem to mind overly much and can be seen laughing and joining in with the general spirit of revelry that pervades the Broken Barrel.
(Players may formally introduce your characters as either just entering the tavern or already being there for a length of time.)
Watl sat with his back to the wall on a stool near the archway that led to the game room of The Broken Barrel. He was often overlooked by the serving women, but that was to be expected; he was only three feet tall. He wasn’t here for food, drink, games, or even companionship, however. He was here for information.
He had arrived in Ashborn a few hours ago and found his way to this tavern. It was a nice place; much nicer than the majority of the taverns he had frequented back in Ferrin, the place he had just come from. Ferrin had been his home for his whole life. It was a much bigger city than this little town, that was for sure. He had been a baron of the understreets, leader of his gang. Well, they had started out as street urchins and evolved into a gang and then been incorporated into something more closely resembling a guild, though without any official sanctions.
There were laws on the streets. Not the weak, breakable laws of a king or governor; but the immutable street law. There is a sort of honor among thieves. You don’t target someone else in the game. Not only that, but every city of note has an undercity or city of the shadows. They govern pretty much all the… questionable lines of business. Gambling, thieving, prostitution, assassination, etc. Watl was once an important guy in the undercity. Once being the operative word.
He fell out of favor with the ruling council of the undercity after an… incident, and was forced to leave rather quickly. That was why he was here, in Ashborn. It wasn’t nearly as large or as prominent as Ferrin, but he would deal with that. He was at The Broken Barrel to listen to the patrons and find out who ran the undercity in Ashborn. It shouldn’t take too long; most undercities were pretty common knowledge.
So here he sat, listening to conversations and trying not to stand out.
This could be a good thing. Maybe they need someone with my experience in a place like this. I could probably get a solid position within a few months. But it’s been two hours and I haven’t even heard a whisper of who might be running things around here! Maybe this place is too upscale…
Pit of Vipers: Watl Wiggins - Halfling Rogue(10)
League of Improbable Adventurers: Alan Quatermain - Human Fighter(3)
Jianyu Mendoza is a wood elf starting into his ninth century. He stands a bit over 5 feet tall. He has grey skin, and green eyes. He wears a hooded cloak and simple clothes. He carries few possesions, a sturdy walking stick, a light pack with some mapping tools, and a knife on his belt. He also wears a simple silver ring on the smallest finger of his right hand.
Jianyu has lived a very very long life, sired children, watched his grand children grow into.. well, into their own messes. He's seen nations rise and fall Human and Elven alike, and Elven nations don't fall often.
Now he just wanted to get away for awhile. In the forest his kin always sought his guidance and his wisdom, which was absurd given how rarely he granted it. Truth be told, while his body showed signs of his age, his mind was slipping too. He needed some stimulus. In the forest it was always, "Let us get you a chair, Grandfather" "Maybe you should lie down and rest, Grandfather." He'd had enough. He was out in the world again.
How long had it been since he left? Couldn't be more than a couple of decades. He could stand to sit down for a few, when he thought of it... There was a tavern ahead. He'd hurry inside, get a drink, and relax. If he daudled long, some fools would think him a beggar; start tossing him coins, just 'cause of his aged appearance... The girls here didn't seem to wear much. Styles changed so often.
Extended Signature
Lavasha Opennea, although he prefers to be addressed as Lav, walks down the streets of Ashborn with a very sweaty face, looking around to see if there might be anyone suspicious around who might pose a problem. Accursed Goblins, he thinks.
He didn't intend to enter the city during night and would have much more desired to come to the city when the sun still shines. To his misfortune, a group of those green painted Dwarves suddenly attacked his camp. Luckily, he managed to snatch his bag before he ran away, but...he had to leave his orange juice behind. Cursed Gobbos, he thinks once again. Not knowing whether they still chased him, Lav ran into the city, albeit reluctantly.
While he makes sure that he isn't suddenly attacked, Lavasha Opennea looks out for something to drink; running for his life certainly didn't help his thirst. Finally he came across a building that could provide him with it. "The Broken Barrel", he mumbles. Hah, what a fitting name, he thinks. That improved his mood, slightly. He walks through the door, when a loud noise startles him. He already readies himself to fi...run away, that is until he sees nothing that indicates a battle in that direction. Instead, he sees a red beared mountain dwarf sitting at his table with a mug in hand.
Lav shakes his head and keeps moving, although he gives the dwarf an annoyed look. Lav sits at one empty table and signals to one of the wenches that he wants to order. "Good evening, miss. I would like to order a cup of orange juice", he asks nicely. (Being rude to the one bringing you your food or drink is never a smart thing to do )The wench blinks twice before telling him that they don't offer any, which made him blink twice. Lav sighs, " Fine, I will take a cup of apple juice, then." The wench shows the same reaction. "Just give me water", Lav says dejectedly.
Zack sits alone at a table in the corner of the main room, doodling away at a notebook. He is a half-elf dressed in blue. He wears a cloak over his blue clothes. A sheathed sword (re-skinned rapier) hangs from his belt to his left.
Zack's family once was a very powerful noble house but now, they have lost almost all of their wealth and influence. Their family castle is now used as a boarding home. However, their name is still recognized and even respected. During his teen years Zack gained a burning passion for the arcane arts but he never could find any books to teach him to cast spells. Now in his early 20s, he has come to Ashborn hearing about it's history. "Maybe there will be some ancient books from which I can learn the arcane arts." He has arrived earlier today and has been getting his bearings in the tavern for the past 3 hours.
A mountain dwarf sits in the corner of the main room at a table by himself. Its clear but the empty mugs, he’s been drinking ale for a while. At the current moment he is talking with a certain wench that has caught his eye. A long dark red beard hangs from the chin and his head is shaved. A large scar runs along the right side of his head. The dwarf is clad in heavy bronze chain mail. Numerous small blue and gold ribbons are interlaced to the links on my chain mail across the right chest, possibly awards for service. Dark brown leather covers the rest of his body. Although the leather is worn, his boots have been well taken care of. A warhammer and shield are propped against the table upright. The warhammer has a glowing blue jewel in the bottom of the handle, almost magically glowing. A small cross bow, cocked and ready, dangles from the belt at his waist. I constinitly look around the room sizing up the other parties coming and going.
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I am Vosnin Emberlight. I was part of my clans security, the Iron Watch, at the mines. The mining operation was for gold and iron. Very lucrative, but only the heads of the operation saw the money. I was the leader of “dark operations.” Dark operations included interrogation and apprehension of criminals on and off site. Many criminals have been caught and dealt with under my watch, many personally by myself. I began my work for the protection of the mines and my perpetuance for violence, but I’ve learned money is far more important to me than loyalty. I am here for myself and to fill my pockets with gold, no matter whose blood I spill.
PC: Brozznan Kane - Undead in Skyraker |
DM:
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Clad in hooded leather armor, with a light crossbow on her back and a handaxe slung at her right hip, a youngish woman glides into the main room from the gaming room, her eyes darting from face to face as she scans for newcomers. She's clearly looking for someone. The calm confidence in her stance and her right hand that never strays far from the axe at her side suggests she's ready for a fight if she finds them.
Suddenly, her eyes lock on the bald dwarf. Her eyes narrow and she moves directly toward his table in the corner. "Is that you Vosnin? I haven't seen you in years! I believe you were a friend of my mother, Joana Yojah. I'm her daughter, Jah'nun. You probably don't remember me." Giving him a warm smile and offering to buy him another round, she says, "She's one of the best fighters in the city guard, although she says that if you had ever joined, you would have given her a run for her money." She pulls out a chair to the left of the dwarf. "Actually, when I was dropping off my latest bounty, a real dirt bag lemme tell you, I spoke to my mother and she said she'd heard that you were around." Crossing her long, leather clad legs as she sits, uninvited, her eyes widen at the large scar on his head. She signals a serving wench for drinks, and says in an awed voice, "That's new! I bet there's a great story behind that!"
Kaltent stands in the game room, awaiting his turn to throw a dagger at one of the boards. He is of average height, and forgettable in appearance. His hairs is brown and well-kept, with blue eyes, but no specific features stand out as particularly memorable. Which is perfect in his opinion. His current outfit mirrors the trend, being a typical peasants garb for this part of the world, with nothing to mark it out as worth noticing.
He fiddles with the gold coin in his hands, rolling it along his fingers as he waits his turn, bouncing slightly on his feet. It's been to long since he made a sale, and his funds are getting low. He needs to get back out and find something else he can sell to get some income again.
I look up and watch Jah’nun approaching my table. I sit up and down the rest of my ale as the prospect of a free round is now offered. I reach out to shake your hand.
“Of course I remember you Jah’nun. How’s your mother?” I ask. “I don’t think there would have been anyone left alive for the other guys to deal with if I had teamed up with Joana.” I take a swig of ale that was brought over. I run my hand over the scar. “This old thing? I got this on the last attack at the mines. I will say that bugbear was pretty handy with an axe, but not after I crushed his skull.” I take another drink and look over at my warhammer. The blue gem slightly brightens in the hilt. “I left the mines soon after that. What brings you to these parts? Not exactly the kind of place I would have guessed you’d end up.” I keep glancing off toward the door as people enter and leave.
PC: Brozznan Kane - Undead in Skyraker |
DM:
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Cavyre sits in the far corner of the main room, watching everyone and occasionally scribbling things in his notebook and sipping his drink as he watches everyone with piercing eyes. A tallish, somewhat odd looking creature, with snow white hair, grey eyes, dark red skin, and two small horns coming out of his forehead. He wears a light grey robe with a large hood that covers his head, and a strange necklace with intricate symbols that no one can figure out but him. He always has his well worn leather notebook and quill, magically modified to not need ink to write for convenience. A staff (his arcane focus), leans against the wall next to him, and he has two daggers strapped to his legs, which are hidden by his robe, and a crossbow and bolts next to the staff.
DM for: Reign of Villains Player for: Tildian Hopsprite - Halfling Warlock 1 (Smiles all around!) Sen'ra Esghal - Fire Genasi Barbarian, Path of the Berserker 4 (Adventurers never rests!) (Angry and drunk.) Silthen Ehten - Drow Elf Storm Sorcerer 1 (The Search For The Sacred Shards)
Sitting back in my seat, I whistle an impressed sound. "A bugbear, huh?" I shake my head in amazement. "My mother tells stories of those with her mates in the guard sometimes, but I've never even seen one." As the door opens and a slight gust of wind blows in some rain and another customer, I look him over briefly, and then dismiss him. Too short, wrong hair color, not him. Then I take a small sip of my drink and turn my attention back to Vosnin.
"She wanted me to join her in the guard, of course, but I... need more freedom of movement. Been doing a few odd bits of a work as a bounty hunter for a while now, keeping my options open, you might say." Through the arched stone doorway I see a curly haired wench relieving an inebriated scoundrel of his purse as he leans against a wall and smiles, besotted, into her pretty face. I take another drink and look away. "Of course, it's only a way to make a bit of coin while I pursue a more... personal mission." Changing the focus from herself quickly, Jah'nun nods at an ancient elf near the bar. "By Beshaba's forked beard! How is a fellow that old still standing? He looks like he couldn't even lift a mug!"
Jianyu moves to lift his laden mug... Maybe rest awhile longer first...
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Cavyre spots Lav, finishes his drink, and takes his things and goes over to Lav. "Hello there. Sorry to intrude, but I saw you are realized we look alike. My name's Cavyre. You are? It's ok if you don't want to answer. Everyone needs privacy. I just wanted to ask if you hail from Essoterra, like I do. I've not seen a familiar looking face in ages, and I thought we might know each other? Not that this land is bad. Usually I tend to shy away from bar scenes, but this is a cozy place. You'll like it." Cavyre looks expectantly at Lav, with a glint of hope in his eyes.
DM for: Reign of Villains Player for: Tildian Hopsprite - Halfling Warlock 1 (Smiles all around!) Sen'ra Esghal - Fire Genasi Barbarian, Path of the Berserker 4 (Adventurers never rests!) (Angry and drunk.) Silthen Ehten - Drow Elf Storm Sorcerer 1 (The Search For The Sacred Shards)
".... well, just because I have a little faith, it doesn't mean I can't play a little cards," Bones replies with a smile as he deals out the next hand. There's a deftness to the way the cards are dealt, not quite on par with those of true card-sharks, but more than what is expected for someone dressed as he.
Bones is tall and a bit on the thin side, but one would only know that by the shape of his face given that he is covered in splint mail from shoulders to shin; his gauntlets are off to the side, next to his shield. A mace hangs from his belt loop and there seems to be some sort of amulet around his neck. The tunic he wears is mostly dark in tone, greys and blacks, matching the dark varnish given to the splint mail... but the lining of his tunic and clothing, although only barely noticeable, is bright and colorful. His boots are well worn, as if they have been on the move their entire lives - which, given the seeming air of their wearer, may not be far from the truth. The man's ears, pointed slightly at the end, seem to be positioned to hear every word said at that table, peering around as if they were trying to read the other players as one would read a book.
"My name? Well, that's because I had a fondness of playing knucklebones as a child - even then, I liked to gamble," he replies with a chuckle to the half heard question. Of all those at the table, he is by far the most boisterous - not quite so cloak and dagger as the other players. Bones turns to another of the players and with a wink at the end of it says, "You have lovely eyes, miss, unfortunately they did not warn you of the trouble in front of you." Bones shows his hand and collects his winnings.
"Well, it's a good thing I only just got into Ashburn, too many nights like this and you all might have been in the poorhouse!" then, before anyone can respond, Bones calls to the nearest waitress, "Excuse me miss, could you bring us a round of drinks on my tab, please?"
Then turning to the rest at the table, "It's the least I can do as an offering for the great luck I've been having tonight - share the wealth I say.... but not all of it!" He says it all with a grin.
// Bones //
Storm King's Thunder - Ink, Elven Bladesinging Wizard
Core City: APbPA - Ormond, Human Twilight Cleric
The Inferno - BG:Dia - DM
They keep me rollin'
I lean into Jahn as she tells me of her journey. I make note of her body language, that has told me a lot more about her business than her words have. It’s clear to me she waiting for someone. Someone that is not long for this world. I note this for future reference, but brush it off like I didn’t completely understand what she was speaking of. Exactly what Jaun wanted me to do. For now.....
I I lean back and laugh as we watch the old man leaned up against the bar. “People like that probably shouldn’t be put in these parts. Not a bad place, but a bad place for the vulnerable.” I take a big gulp of my drink finishing it off. I motion for another round for me and my new friend, though may be a little early to say for certain. “I learned real quick in this life you need to take what you need, but you have to have a code. I don’t like seeing people taken advantage of but they have thier own responsibility not to put themselves in a bad situation.”
I lean back in my chair, putting a little more of a stern look on my face. “So again, what brings you into town? Clearly you’re like myself and I’m need of a little coin. And as Thor and Odin knows, I have a few bounties on my head. Now I’m not saying I’m the one you’re looking for or anything like that. But I’ve made it quite a point not to run into the past very often. Never seems to turn out to be a cordial reunion of sorts.” I turn my head to crack my neck. I lean in to you putting my arms on top of the table. “I repect your mother and your family so I hope this is one of those rare cases.”
PC: Brozznan Kane - Undead in Skyraker |
DM:
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In a deceptively relaxed pose, one hand casually toying with the well-worn wood of my axe handle, I shrug. "The Mighty Vosnin Emberlight? I can't imagine a bounty being on your head." My eyes slide away from the lie. Nodding towards a small figure on a stool near the archway across the room, "Now THAT one, I'm sure I've seen on a "wanted" poster here, or back in Ferrin, maybe. Of course, I was just passing through and haven't really been keeping my hand in the game for a while now." I lock eyes with the halfling for a moment before looking back at the dwarf. Shaking my head, I push my mug away. "No. I'm not here for any bounties. I've heard rumors of... someone who has something that belongs to me. I think they may be involved with whoever is, unofficially, running this area." My eyes become iron hard. "I mean to find him, and claim what is mine." By her travel worn clothes and leathers it's obvious Jahn traveled for some time and lived rough along the way to get here. Determination practically rolls off her like the layers of dust on her boots.
Abruptly, a wry smile quirking my lips, I slap the table and stand. Then I gesture toward the games room. That's when the missing third knuckle on the ring finger of her left hand becomes apparent. "It's a bit too warm on this side of the room. How about some cards?"
"Damn! It looks like the game is yours my friend." Exclaims a short and slender figure in rather drab clothes. He puts a few copper in the hand of his darts opponent and takes a long drink from his mug of ale. Unbeknownst to his opponent, the tiefling threw their dart game. He just wanted to get a good look at his coin purse to see if 'acquiring' its contents were worth his trouble, they weren't. His slender tail ending in a spade sways absentmindedly as he takes a look around the bar.
His yellow eyes lock on the other two tieflings in the bar and he slinks into a shadow to hide his deep maroon skin. *Don't they know it's dangerous to have more than one hell-spawn gathered in a group. People get nervous fast.* He thinks to himself. He nervously taps his left ram-like horns as he looks for a potential mark. He smiles a thin, fanged smile when he sees the aged elf near the bar.
He slicks back his jet black hair and checks the daggers at his back and the rapier at his hip before walking over to the seat next to the elf. He sets down his bag, quiver, and shortbow between his legs, always keenly aware of where he places his possessions and that his coin purse is tucked into his belt. "Good day traveler. My name is Trust. What brings you to the Broken Barrel?" He raises his hand to signal to Grunder or a barmaid to bring two drinks over.
Huh. Two Tieflings sitting together. Maybe I’m in the right place, after all. They’ve gotta be in the underground.
Watl made his way over to the table with the two Tieflings, expertly dodging around the legs of serving women and keeping out of the way of patrons as they walked about. He hopped up into an unoccupied chair next to them and smiled a charming smile as the two looked at him.
“Hi there.” He said, picking up a fork from the table and twirling it around his fingers with practiced motions. “A hand can be clever but to a smile and a laugh you never say never.”
Watl looked expectantly at the two and was met with only blank stares. He almost frowned, but he kept his smile in place.
Hm. Maybe they use a Western thief-speak here.
Watl cleared his throat and tried again. “Far easier to die well than to live well, though promises and mirrors make the light shine brighter.”
He was again met with blank stares.
Alright, what in the world is going on in this place!?
“Excuse me.” The halfling said as he hopped down to the floor and walked back to his stool.
Great. Now I’ve made a fool of myself. Well, I’ve always been a fool, but a man’s illusions are his greatest treasures. What is wrong with this town? I’ve seen the serving women stealing from customers and there’s no doubt that prostitution is going on, also. There must be someone from the undercity pulling the strings around here. But where are they?
Pit of Vipers: Watl Wiggins - Halfling Rogue(10)
League of Improbable Adventurers: Alan Quatermain - Human Fighter(3)
“Lucky thing for you then, as I’m currently free of any jobs at the time being. A certain item of interest of mine has also came up missing recently. Now I don’t wish to point fingers without facts, but my patience are running rather thin. From my understanding it has passed hands multiple times and is now possibly in the area.” I lock eyes with Jaun. “Now if you’re looking for a partner in this endeavor, I’m sure we could help each other out.”
I stand up and collect my weaponary, strapping it to by back for the time being. “A game of cards sounds good to me if you’re up for losing a few coins.” I follow you toward the game room. I eye the tieflings throughout the room. Quite odd that many tieflings are congregating on the surface. I close in to Jaun and whisper, “what’s your thoughts on the hell spawn (slur for tieflings)? I’ve never had good luck with them myself.” I tuck my coin purse into my clothing.
PC: Brozznan Kane - Undead in Skyraker |
DM:
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Jianyu peers unflinching into the Trust's yellow eyes, with a quiet, understanding face and not a word. Either he can peer directly into your very soul, or he's lost in his own head. He gives a short nod and raises the drink to his new friend and takes a sip. He stands a moment to adjust himself before sitting again and produces no sound, no weapons, no armor... no coins? He gives Trust a knowing wink... or was that a grateful wink?
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