It is early spring in Daggerford… or late Winter, depending upon your outlook. Late season snows have bedeviled the farmers who spend their cold mornings plowing the fields outside the town walls and consulting their elders and almanacs for the proper time to plant their radishes, onions and alfalfa crops. The skies are grey, the roads are muddy wallows, and proper Spring still feels many weeks away.
Caravan season doesn’t really pick up along the Trade Way until the weather turns good and for all, so it isn’t unusual for the taverns and inns of Daggerford to be quiet this time of year. Even so, the somber stillness that hangs over the streets and alleys of the town feels acute and oppressive. Last year was lean, and this winter leaner still. The Sword Coast is in turmoil and far fewer traders passed through than the town is used to. When the nobles and merchants have to pinch their coins together to make ends meet, one need only imagine how much tighter the belts are on the lower classes.
Inside the River Shining Tavern, there is at least a little bit of light and life on this grey evening, as the sun sets over the town walls. The richly decorated tavern belongs to the Delimbiyr family, who took their name from the river that runs outside the southern town wall, and named the tavern after it, too. The River Shining Tavern is the longest established tavern still operating in Daggerford and claims to date from the town’s founding. The truth of that is a matter of some debate, but certainly the wooden building’s architectural style matches that of the very oldest buildings in town.
Long a local center of entertainment, culture and fine food and drink, the owners have invested back into the tavern over the centuries. Claiming a little elven blood in their family tree, the Delimbiyr’s leaned into this ancestry for design inspiration. The walls, railings, columns and mouldings of the tavern are decorated with fine carvings suggesting leaves, branches and running water. Well trafficked carpets are replaced as needed and overall the establishment would hold its own against all but the finest of Waterdeep. This kind of atmosphere doesn’t come cheap, and the River Shining is easily the most expensive of the taverns in Daggerford.
As luck would have it, you don’t have to worry about the tab tonight. Those brave volunteers who have put their names in to join the upcoming werewolf hunt have been invited out this evening by Sir Rowan Caskbow, knight in service to Morninglow Tower, the local temple of Amaunator. Duchess Morwen has placed Sir Rowan in charge of this expedition, and he has called this meeting to discuss his plans and preparations. You've all heard the stories... Wolves in the mists. Entire families disappearing from isolated farmsteads. Now you gather to hear just what Sir Rowan expects you all to do about it.
The local Council of Guilds use the private dining chambers of the River Shining for many of their meetings, appreciating the air of importance the tavern lent to their affairs. It is to one of these rooms that the tavern staff lead each of you as you arrive. Passing through the main floor tavern, you spot a few vaguely familiar faces of local merchants and bankers, sitting at the bar drinking spirits from polished snifter glasses. Somewhere, a viol is being played. Up the back stairs, you are taken to a long, narrow dining hall dominated by a 25’ long table of golden oak. The ornamental light holder above the center of the table is fashioned from shaped strips of woods made to resemble antlers.
The servers advise that a meal of baked chicken and biscuits will be served once everyone has arrived, but that you are welcome to order from their extensive wine list, or partake in the house special brew - Delimbyr brown ale - while you wait.
[Welcome to Red Wine, Black Rose: A Curse of Strahd Adventure. First to post will be the first to arrive in the dining room, and so on and so forth. Please make yourselves comfortable, introduce your PC’s and get to know one another. Once you have all had a chance to say your hello's, DM will start bringing in the NPCs and we can really get started.]
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr came up to the front door of the River and knocked the mud from his boots and tried to brush himself down, this place was a little...a lot...fancier than his usual haunts and he self-conciously moved across to hug the walls as he made his way closer to the bar but didn't order anything just yet. He looked around the room for familiar faces and saw a few but none he really knew to talk to.
He'd done his best to appear presentable, his head was shaved amd sported a couple of fresh cuts and he'd hacked his beard into a somewhat less bushy expanse. His tunic was dark grey and the few stains on it he'd done his best to scrub out. He leaned against the wall and watched the door...
Soren feels an urge to scratch the abominable itch in his shoulder, pawing at it as an animal would. But with effort, he resists, not wanting to draw attention. He lolls his tongue for a moment like a wolf grinning to relax himself, not realizing that this is equally conspicuous. As are the few stray leaves and twigs in his hair from where he slept the previous night, only shivering a little in a copse of trees outside the big city (as he thinks of it) of Daggerford.
He has never been inside the River Shining Tavern, and has learned just enough about gold from his fellow militia men and women to know that he could not afford it under ordinary circumstances. Still, Soren muses, it is lovely here. He stares long and wistfully at the stylistic carvings of woodlands and streams, remembering his elven mother's tribe, wishing only that the depictions also included more beasts of the land, water and air. He closes his eyes for a moment to shut out his the memory of burning trees and flesh. The towering flames and choking ash. The screams.
Paying little heed to the merchants and bankers, more out of ignorance than rudeness, his brown eyes light up as he sees Burr's familiar, homely face. One of the few he feels he can talk to without constantly being on guard. He looks around for others, not immediately spying Zefla, though halflings like her could be hard to spot when they wished to be scarce. Like a lynx in midwinter. Feeling unsure, he orders the Delimbyr brown ale, reminding himself to take only a few sips instead of gulping it like flowing creek water, lest he bring on the pounding headache he recalls from the last time...
Approaching Burr, he tilts his head like a blue jay in greeting. "Baked chicken. So do they hunt chickens or... ah, raise them," (Soren still struggles with the concept of livestock), "as with hogs? If we hunt and catch these werewolves, maybe they'll serve us baked werewolf?"
At the thought of wolves, Soren finally gives in to his lingering itch, sneaking a hand up to scratch his shoulder surreptitiously, yet furiously.
Approaching Burr, he tilts his head like a blue jay in greeting. "Baked chicken. So do they hunt chickens or... ah, raise them," (Soren still struggles with the concept of livestock), "as with hogs? If we hunt and catch these werewolves, maybe they'll serve us baked werewolf?"
At the thought of wolves, Soren finally gives in to his lingering itch, sneaking a hand up to scratch his shoulder surreptitiously, yet furiously.
Burr looks up as Soren approaches, " Raise them."
" Werewolves are people.....most of the time...I don't think you're supposed to eat people....", Burr said slightly unsurely.
A man in a cloak walks into the River Shining tavern, a very somber face with a blank expression as he walks in and brushes the dirt off his worn boots. He holds his hands in front of him, fingers pointed in the shape of a steeple, occasionally resting his chin on the point as he looks around the room and smiles, nods. He walks forward and stands against the wall, smiling and nodding his head to anyone who passes him, coming in. He happens to stop beside Soren and Burr, thinking These two look stout and fit, they look like they could handle themselves just fine. He lingers, rising up and down on his toes, overhearing their conversation and trying to decide the proper moment to enter, to slip into their conversation. Giles looks like someone that you have met somewhere before… but you just can’t place his name. You’re sure that you’ve seen him around town at some point, but it is hard to remember where.
He nods to them, an unctuous smile on his face and says “Greetings, my name is Father Giles. Are you here for the meeting? I might grab one of those delicious ales myself. Might make the evening go a little smoother. Dreadful business, werewolves. You know..” he indicates Soren and nods towards his shoulder, “an ointment or a poultice might be good for your affliction. I am somewhat versed in the healing arts. After the meeting is over I would be glad to have a look at it, if you wish. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
Zefla follows a couple into the River Shining Tavern, sticking to shadows as she typically does as she surveys the area. She silently tuts as she looks at all the extravagance around her. Who would be comfortable in a place like this? Always needing to look and show your best? How does one relax and let off steam? She shakes her head... but as her gaze lands on the clientele, she really has a hard time focusing on why she is there.
Luckily, she is then taken up the back stairs and led into the dining chamber. The halfling pauses at the door way, brushing back some of her unkempt long brown hair that was haphazardly in a braid. She was wearing worn brown leathers with not much to adorn them, though several weapons gleamed from her belt. She sniffs quite loudly, wipes her round face with the back of her hand, then notices the three of you against the wall.
"Oy!" she waves a quick hand, "fancy seeing you all here. Ready to catch a wolf? Bet I'll get one before any of you." She then moves past them to the long table and takes a seat. When asked, she orders "Some of your best wine, please. Thank you."
She turns to face the others, "You lot going to sit down or hold up the wall?"
Soren has never heard anyone introduce themselves as a "Father" before, but now that he thinks on it, why not? Not all species of animal tend to have both parents involved in the raising of young, but those that do are often the most interesting. Besides, Giles looks somehow familiar...
Over a cautiously tiny sip of ale, he ventures curiously, "I am Soren. Hello Giles. Have you fathered many young? You can look at my shoulder if you like. I think it's fine, but there's this part I can't quite reach. Maybe you could give it a little scratch for me?"
He looks over and smiles as Zefla enters, happy to see another familiar face. Her brashness doesn't bother him. In fact, she reminds him of a particularly fast wolf cub back in the Wood who had learned to hunt quicker than her litter-mates and always seemed to be grinning as a result, tongue lolling out.
"Holding up the..." Soren glances back at the wall. Had he been pushing on it? He can't remember.
He paces over and sits down next to the halfling with his ale, looking back at the others to follow if they wish. "Yes, I am ready to catch a werewolf, Zefla. What are we doing with them after we catch them, do you know? I was thinking we would eat them like these chickens that the den masters here are going to serve us, but Burr says maybe not because they are also... people?" Soren looks uncertain of this disqualifier. Some animals eat people too.
A flicker of a look comes across Giles face, there for a second then gone, a twinkle in his eye. He stops mid sip of his ale, nearly choking but does not. “Fathered? No, no, no my child. (At least none that I know of), *you see him pause, considering, then he keeps talking* You see, I hope to be an aide, a balm to all of those who are lost. Perhaps, I can help you. And your friends here. At a minimum, I can help your shoulder! And perhaps with this werewolf business. If you would have me. Though I can’t say that I will be eating their meat,*a look of distaste* I would rather have my fill here with usual cuisines before we start. Now let me see that shoulder…”
Giles lifts up Soren’s shirt to get access to his shoulder and scapula. What is odd is that you sense a scratching feeling, but Giles hand is above your shoulder, moving subtly. “There now, is that better? I can apply a balm if needed…”
A wide, beatific smile spreads across Soren's guileless face as he makes an effort to prevent his leg from convulsively twitching like that of a dog getting a nice scratch. He is far too distracted to notice that Giles is not actually touching him. He barely hears the offer of balm and shakes his head.
"Ahhhh... thank you. You would be very popular among some of my friends back in... the Wood..." Soren trails off and briefly looks sad.
Zefla raises her eyebrows, "Eat them??" she looks to Giles and Burr to see their reaction and then returns to Soren, "I am definitely not planning on eating them. I'm going to trade them in for the reward of course! I mean, I'm sure there is a reward, right?"
She watches as Giles helps Soren out.. "Now that is quite a trick. Will be good to have you around if any of us get bitten!"
Giles gives a slight smile of appreciation to Zefla and Soren, then motions Burr and Soren to come join him at the table with Zefla after he gathers a plate of biscuits and chicken and another Delimbyr brown ale. He picks up a piece of chicken, holding the wing up and making the forearm move back and forth, looking down at his own elbow and moves it, saying “I guess it is just another form of meat, but … ugh.” He chews heartily into the chicken wing. “I wonder if they taste like chicken.” he muses to himself.
“I would be glad to help, if anyone is bitten. Like I said, I have knowledge of some cures and healing medicine.” He dives back into his chicken and a biscuit, eyeing the others out of the corner of his eye. He looks to Zefla and extends a greasy hand, “Namesf Fafur Giles, pleefftameetcha.”
As the meal is brought out it is served buffet style, with a large plate of baked chicken set on the table next to a basket of biscuits. The ale is unlike the mild lagers or potent dwarven brews served at some of the other watering holes in town. It seems like a mash of different flavours each taking a turn on the palette... first crisp bitterness, then a slowly cascading nuttiness. It doesn't taste very strong. The red wine is served out of a brass pitcher rather than a bottle. It does taste at least on par with the better wines served at the Lizard's Gizzard, so Zelfa wouldn't have reason to doubt they were serving her their 'best'.
As you eye the food hungrily - and some have already begun to eat - Sir Rowan Caskbow enters the dining hall. He is a tall, fit human man of middle to late middle age. He would be handsome, but an old injury flattened and crooked his nose, and left a lump of scar tissue between his eyes. He wears his long black hair ties back in a braid, and he presents this evening in his dress chainmail - armor more fit for a military parade than for battle. The ornamental steel chainmail has orange sleeves and there is a heavy cloak of fine yellow fabric incorporated into the armor. He looks at all of you from the doorway, sizing you up.
Insight DC 14:
He looks you over with the practiced eye of a drill instructor examining new recruits. He doesn't appear to be particularly impressed.
After a moment, he gestures toward the food, to any who haven't already helped themselves. "Please, eat. It looks like we are still waiting for one more to join us." He walks slowly around the table. He removes a pair of yellow gloves and grasps a biscuit and a glass of wine and then takes a seat at the head of the table.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr chewed the chicken slowly, not bad but it was free so even if it had been he would still eat it, as he watched Sir Rowan move around the room he nodded to himself. The man was a much more experienced and dangerous in a fight than he was perhaps he could learn something from him.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As the others join, before Sir Rowan comes in, Zefla looks at the greasy offered hand from Giles, raises an eyebrow and looks back to the man with his mouth full of chicken. Ignoring the hand, she responds, "I understood Giles in all that.. I'm assuming that is your name? Mine is Zefla, Zefla Shadowquick. Food must be good." she gives a wry smile, then starts diving in herself.
Enjoying the wine that was provided, she looks over her glass as Sir Rowan arrives..
Giles tears into the biscuits and chicken, like he’s been saving up for the evening and enjoys himself to the fullest. After he finishes, he acts almost disgusted with himself, wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin and resumes a fatherly tone and reserved aspect. As Sir Rowan enters the room, he also has a considering gaze, appraising his features, wondering about prior battle injuries and the weapons that must have left such scars on his face. He holds a mug of the ale in his left hand, and his right hand is upon the table. Quietly he produces a coin in his right hand seemingly from nowhere. He starts to roll the coin off his knuckles, back and forth in a practiced motion. He flips it over each joint and then begins again. He is observing Sir Rowan and keeping his eye on the door for the awaited visitor, almost unaware of what his right hand is doing. He does a head count in the room, looking for how many have been gathered for this task. He looks for any other priests from his order in the room, and considers how any award from the task would be split..
Soren devours his serving of the chicken impressively for a slim half-elf. Mostly with his fingers and teeth, ripping bits of meat, though surprisingly deftly, leaving his mouth clean. At the end, he remembers to take a sip of ale. A small one. He seems to find it surprisingly enjoyable, taking another sip.
Finally remembering to look around at his companions and smile, Soren tries to recall... Burr had said something important. About the werewolves not being right in the head as ordinary wolves might be. Something wrong with the human part of being a werewolf. Makes sense to Soren and he nods at the man. He likes humans, though he doesn't always understand them. And sometimes, they are indeed the cause of the problems...
And Zefla, she had said something about a... "Reward? I wonder if they will reward us with more of this chicken or... ale? Or the... wine that you are drinking?" Soren takes another, bigger sip of ale, forgetting the head-splitting hangover that had resulted from a previous night of being a lightweight. "Or will it be more of the coins which we are paid for being in the militia to start with? If it is coins, what would you all do with them?"
As Sir Rowan Caskbow enters the hall, Soren listens intently as he would to any pack leader. Particularly the leader of his new pack, he muses ruefully. He returns Caskbow's searching look, reaching out for Guidance to gain Insight into the man's intentions: 12 + 3 = 15.
Giles, your skills of perception gather you the following information:
There is no one else here. Just the four of you, this knight, and some chicken and biscuits. Admittedly, the knight looks like he has seen his way around a horse and a scrape or two, but now that you look around and really think about it... this is barely a scout party. This hardly seems like an expeditionary force such as one that would take on a marauding pack of werewolves.
You don't have to wait long until the final member of the dinner party arrives. "Right this way, Madame Bauer," you hear from one of the servers out in the upstairs hall. Into the room strides a tiefling woman, red of skin and with long jet-black hair flowing from behind her recurved brow horns. She wears a high quality traveling robe of blue and purple, which carries down to mid-calf, revealing high quality deerskin traveling boots beneath. She wears gloves to match. A warm fur cloak hangs from her shoulders and in her left hand is a staff, crowned with a carving of an angry face with a big, almost comical nose.
She looks over the room with yellow eyes. "What a miserable time of year to travel... ooh chicken..." she interrupts herself and strides forward to grab a plate. As she is removing her gloves and digging in to the food, she makes a let's get on with it gesture towards Sir Rowan.
The knight sets down his biscuit, takes another sip of wine, and begins. "Ah. Well then. Now that we are all present, please allow me to introduce the newest member of our coterie. Madame Tourmaline Bauer, special attaché to the Masked Lords of our sister city, Waterdeep. The recent lycanthrope troubles have caught the attention all the powers of the northern Sword Coast." Madame Bauer raises an eyebrow at sister city but says nothing, continuing to demolish chicken. "Madame Bauer, on behalf of the Duchess, the council, the faith of Amaunator, and the people of Daggerford... welcome."
"It is her benefactors we have to thank for some of the reward money which will be financing our little expedition," he says, turning his attention back to the rest of you. He reaches into his robes and pulls out a little folded map, freshly inked on velum. As he starts to unfurl it, he pauses. "It occurs to me... have any of you lot ever faced down a werewolf before?"
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla licks her fingers clean after a large chicken leg as she watches the newcomer. First a fancy place, now a fancy tiefling? This is not one bit what she expected when she decided to try and help out with the werewolf problems. She smiles to herself.. maybe the reward will be handsomer than she anticipated? She starts looking the woman over, seeing if she can find a purse readily available, but is brought back to Sir Rowan when he asks if anyone has faced a werewolf before.
She points a greasy finger at Soren, "Well, my friend here wants to eat one if that helps." she smiles widely enjoying herself immensely. "But no, can't say I have any experience with lycanthropes. But I'm sure I can handle it." She takes another long drink of the red wine.
Then looks up to Sir Rowan again, specifically at the folded velum, "Whatcha got there?"
Giles eyes flicker when the reward is mentioned. He has full attention on the vellum as it is unfurled. “Faced down a werewolf…” he muses to himself, tapping his chin. “Nope. Can’t say I have. But I’m sure my Lady will guide me through. And give me blessings to help those around me. But any pointers that you have I’d gladly listen to..” He keeps flipping the coin over his knuckles, this time flipping it into the air and catching it in a well practiced manner. When everyone focuses on the map, he gives Zefla a wink out of the corner of his eye, and a nod.
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It is early spring in Daggerford… or late Winter, depending upon your outlook. Late season snows have bedeviled the farmers who spend their cold mornings plowing the fields outside the town walls and consulting their elders and almanacs for the proper time to plant their radishes, onions and alfalfa crops. The skies are grey, the roads are muddy wallows, and proper Spring still feels many weeks away.
Caravan season doesn’t really pick up along the Trade Way until the weather turns good and for all, so it isn’t unusual for the taverns and inns of Daggerford to be quiet this time of year. Even so, the somber stillness that hangs over the streets and alleys of the town feels acute and oppressive. Last year was lean, and this winter leaner still. The Sword Coast is in turmoil and far fewer traders passed through than the town is used to. When the nobles and merchants have to pinch their coins together to make ends meet, one need only imagine how much tighter the belts are on the lower classes.
Inside the River Shining Tavern, there is at least a little bit of light and life on this grey evening, as the sun sets over the town walls. The richly decorated tavern belongs to the Delimbiyr family, who took their name from the river that runs outside the southern town wall, and named the tavern after it, too. The River Shining Tavern is the longest established tavern still operating in Daggerford and claims to date from the town’s founding. The truth of that is a matter of some debate, but certainly the wooden building’s architectural style matches that of the very oldest buildings in town.
Long a local center of entertainment, culture and fine food and drink, the owners have invested back into the tavern over the centuries. Claiming a little elven blood in their family tree, the Delimbiyr’s leaned into this ancestry for design inspiration. The walls, railings, columns and mouldings of the tavern are decorated with fine carvings suggesting leaves, branches and running water. Well trafficked carpets are replaced as needed and overall the establishment would hold its own against all but the finest of Waterdeep. This kind of atmosphere doesn’t come cheap, and the River Shining is easily the most expensive of the taverns in Daggerford.
As luck would have it, you don’t have to worry about the tab tonight. Those brave volunteers who have put their names in to join the upcoming werewolf hunt have been invited out this evening by Sir Rowan Caskbow, knight in service to Morninglow Tower, the local temple of Amaunator. Duchess Morwen has placed Sir Rowan in charge of this expedition, and he has called this meeting to discuss his plans and preparations. You've all heard the stories... Wolves in the mists. Entire families disappearing from isolated farmsteads. Now you gather to hear just what Sir Rowan expects you all to do about it.
The local Council of Guilds use the private dining chambers of the River Shining for many of their meetings, appreciating the air of importance the tavern lent to their affairs. It is to one of these rooms that the tavern staff lead each of you as you arrive. Passing through the main floor tavern, you spot a few vaguely familiar faces of local merchants and bankers, sitting at the bar drinking spirits from polished snifter glasses. Somewhere, a viol is being played. Up the back stairs, you are taken to a long, narrow dining hall dominated by a 25’ long table of golden oak. The ornamental light holder above the center of the table is fashioned from shaped strips of woods made to resemble antlers.
The servers advise that a meal of baked chicken and biscuits will be served once everyone has arrived, but that you are welcome to order from their extensive wine list, or partake in the house special brew - Delimbyr brown ale - while you wait.
[Welcome to Red Wine, Black Rose: A Curse of Strahd Adventure. First to post will be the first to arrive in the dining room, and so on and so forth. Please make yourselves comfortable, introduce your PC’s and get to know one another. Once you have all had a chance to say your hello's, DM will start bringing in the NPCs and we can really get started.]
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr came up to the front door of the River and knocked the mud from his boots and tried to brush himself down, this place was a little...a lot...fancier than his usual haunts and he self-conciously moved across to hug the walls as he made his way closer to the bar but didn't order anything just yet. He looked around the room for familiar faces and saw a few but none he really knew to talk to.
He'd done his best to appear presentable, his head was shaved amd sported a couple of fresh cuts and he'd hacked his beard into a somewhat less bushy expanse. His tunic was dark grey and the few stains on it he'd done his best to scrub out. He leaned against the wall and watched the door...
Soren feels an urge to scratch the abominable itch in his shoulder, pawing at it as an animal would. But with effort, he resists, not wanting to draw attention. He lolls his tongue for a moment like a wolf grinning to relax himself, not realizing that this is equally conspicuous. As are the few stray leaves and twigs in his hair from where he slept the previous night, only shivering a little in a copse of trees outside the big city (as he thinks of it) of Daggerford.
He has never been inside the River Shining Tavern, and has learned just enough about gold from his fellow militia men and women to know that he could not afford it under ordinary circumstances. Still, Soren muses, it is lovely here. He stares long and wistfully at the stylistic carvings of woodlands and streams, remembering his elven mother's tribe, wishing only that the depictions also included more beasts of the land, water and air. He closes his eyes for a moment to shut out his the memory of burning trees and flesh. The towering flames and choking ash. The screams.
Paying little heed to the merchants and bankers, more out of ignorance than rudeness, his brown eyes light up as he sees Burr's familiar, homely face. One of the few he feels he can talk to without constantly being on guard. He looks around for others, not immediately spying Zefla, though halflings like her could be hard to spot when they wished to be scarce. Like a lynx in midwinter. Feeling unsure, he orders the Delimbyr brown ale, reminding himself to take only a few sips instead of gulping it like flowing creek water, lest he bring on the pounding headache he recalls from the last time...
Approaching Burr, he tilts his head like a blue jay in greeting. "Baked chicken. So do they hunt chickens or... ah, raise them," (Soren still struggles with the concept of livestock), "as with hogs? If we hunt and catch these werewolves, maybe they'll serve us baked werewolf?"
At the thought of wolves, Soren finally gives in to his lingering itch, sneaking a hand up to scratch his shoulder surreptitiously, yet furiously.
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Burr looks up as Soren approaches, " Raise them."
" Werewolves are people.....most of the time...I don't think you're supposed to eat people....", Burr said slightly unsurely.
A man in a cloak walks into the River Shining tavern, a very somber face with a blank expression as he walks in and brushes the dirt off his worn boots. He holds his hands in front of him, fingers pointed in the shape of a steeple, occasionally resting his chin on the point as he looks around the room and smiles, nods. He walks forward and stands against the wall, smiling and nodding his head to anyone who passes him, coming in. He happens to stop beside Soren and Burr, thinking These two look stout and fit, they look like they could handle themselves just fine. He lingers, rising up and down on his toes, overhearing their conversation and trying to decide the proper moment to enter, to slip into their conversation. Giles looks like someone that you have met somewhere before… but you just can’t place his name. You’re sure that you’ve seen him around town at some point, but it is hard to remember where.
He nods to them, an unctuous smile on his face and says “Greetings, my name is Father Giles. Are you here for the meeting? I might grab one of those delicious ales myself. Might make the evening go a little smoother. Dreadful business, werewolves. You know..” he indicates Soren and nods towards his shoulder, “an ointment or a poultice might be good for your affliction. I am somewhat versed in the healing arts. After the meeting is over I would be glad to have a look at it, if you wish. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
Zefla follows a couple into the River Shining Tavern, sticking to shadows as she typically does as she surveys the area. She silently tuts as she looks at all the extravagance around her. Who would be comfortable in a place like this? Always needing to look and show your best? How does one relax and let off steam? She shakes her head... but as her gaze lands on the clientele, she really has a hard time focusing on why she is there.
Luckily, she is then taken up the back stairs and led into the dining chamber. The halfling pauses at the door way, brushing back some of her unkempt long brown hair that was haphazardly in a braid. She was wearing worn brown leathers with not much to adorn them, though several weapons gleamed from her belt. She sniffs quite loudly, wipes her round face with the back of her hand, then notices the three of you against the wall.
"Oy!" she waves a quick hand, "fancy seeing you all here. Ready to catch a wolf? Bet I'll get one before any of you." She then moves past them to the long table and takes a seat. When asked, she orders "Some of your best wine, please. Thank you."
She turns to face the others, "You lot going to sit down or hold up the wall?"
Soren has never heard anyone introduce themselves as a "Father" before, but now that he thinks on it, why not? Not all species of animal tend to have both parents involved in the raising of young, but those that do are often the most interesting. Besides, Giles looks somehow familiar...
Over a cautiously tiny sip of ale, he ventures curiously, "I am Soren. Hello Giles. Have you fathered many young? You can look at my shoulder if you like. I think it's fine, but there's this part I can't quite reach. Maybe you could give it a little scratch for me?"
He looks over and smiles as Zefla enters, happy to see another familiar face. Her brashness doesn't bother him. In fact, she reminds him of a particularly fast wolf cub back in the Wood who had learned to hunt quicker than her litter-mates and always seemed to be grinning as a result, tongue lolling out.
"Holding up the..." Soren glances back at the wall. Had he been pushing on it? He can't remember.
He paces over and sits down next to the halfling with his ale, looking back at the others to follow if they wish. "Yes, I am ready to catch a werewolf, Zefla. What are we doing with them after we catch them, do you know? I was thinking we would eat them like these chickens that the den masters here are going to serve us, but Burr says maybe not because they are also... people?" Soren looks uncertain of this disqualifier. Some animals eat people too.
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
A flicker of a look comes across Giles face, there for a second then gone, a twinkle in his eye. He stops mid sip of his ale, nearly choking but does not. “Fathered? No, no, no my child. (At least none that I know of), *you see him pause, considering, then he keeps talking* You see, I hope to be an aide, a balm to all of those who are lost. Perhaps, I can help you. And your friends here. At a minimum, I can help your shoulder! And perhaps with this werewolf business. If you would have me. Though I can’t say that I will be eating their meat, *a look of distaste* I would rather have my fill here with usual cuisines before we start. Now let me see that shoulder…”
Giles lifts up Soren’s shirt to get access to his shoulder and scapula. What is odd is that you sense a scratching feeling, but Giles hand is above your shoulder, moving subtly. “There now, is that better? I can apply a balm if needed…”
A wide, beatific smile spreads across Soren's guileless face as he makes an effort to prevent his leg from convulsively twitching like that of a dog getting a nice scratch. He is far too distracted to notice that Giles is not actually touching him. He barely hears the offer of balm and shakes his head.
"Ahhhh... thank you. You would be very popular among some of my friends back in... the Wood..." Soren trails off and briefly looks sad.
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Zefla raises her eyebrows, "Eat them??" she looks to Giles and Burr to see their reaction and then returns to Soren, "I am definitely not planning on eating them. I'm going to trade them in for the reward of course! I mean, I'm sure there is a reward, right?"
She watches as Giles helps Soren out.. "Now that is quite a trick. Will be good to have you around if any of us get bitten!"
Burr smiled slightly at Zefla, he wasn't so sure about the stranger...he seemed to talk a lot.
Burr grimaced, " I prefer to stand."
" I like wolves, Soren. They are like dogs...but more independant. Werewolves.........are.......not right....in the head....I blame the human part."
Giles gives a slight smile of appreciation to Zefla and Soren, then motions Burr and Soren to come join him at the table with Zefla after he gathers a plate of biscuits and chicken and another Delimbyr brown ale. He picks up a piece of chicken, holding the wing up and making the forearm move back and forth, looking down at his own elbow and moves it, saying “I guess it is just another form of meat, but … ugh.” He chews heartily into the chicken wing. “I wonder if they taste like chicken.” he muses to himself.
“I would be glad to help, if anyone is bitten. Like I said, I have knowledge of some cures and healing medicine.” He dives back into his chicken and a biscuit, eyeing the others out of the corner of his eye. He looks to Zefla and extends a greasy hand, “Namesf Fafur Giles, pleefftameetcha.”
As the meal is brought out it is served buffet style, with a large plate of baked chicken set on the table next to a basket of biscuits. The ale is unlike the mild lagers or potent dwarven brews served at some of the other watering holes in town. It seems like a mash of different flavours each taking a turn on the palette... first crisp bitterness, then a slowly cascading nuttiness. It doesn't taste very strong. The red wine is served out of a brass pitcher rather than a bottle. It does taste at least on par with the better wines served at the Lizard's Gizzard, so Zelfa wouldn't have reason to doubt they were serving her their 'best'.
As you eye the food hungrily - and some have already begun to eat - Sir Rowan Caskbow enters the dining hall. He is a tall, fit human man of middle to late middle age. He would be handsome, but an old injury flattened and crooked his nose, and left a lump of scar tissue between his eyes. He wears his long black hair ties back in a braid, and he presents this evening in his dress chainmail - armor more fit for a military parade than for battle. The ornamental steel chainmail has orange sleeves and there is a heavy cloak of fine yellow fabric incorporated into the armor. He looks at all of you from the doorway, sizing you up.
Insight DC 14:
He looks you over with the practiced eye of a drill instructor examining new recruits. He doesn't appear to be particularly impressed.
After a moment, he gestures toward the food, to any who haven't already helped themselves. "Please, eat. It looks like we are still waiting for one more to join us." He walks slowly around the table. He removes a pair of yellow gloves and grasps a biscuit and a glass of wine and then takes a seat at the head of the table.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr chewed the chicken slowly, not bad but it was free so even if it had been he would still eat it, as he watched Sir Rowan move around the room he nodded to himself. The man was a much more experienced and dangerous in a fight than he was perhaps he could learn something from him.
As the others join, before Sir Rowan comes in, Zefla looks at the greasy offered hand from Giles, raises an eyebrow and looks back to the man with his mouth full of chicken. Ignoring the hand, she responds, "I understood Giles in all that.. I'm assuming that is your name? Mine is Zefla, Zefla Shadowquick. Food must be good." she gives a wry smile, then starts diving in herself.
Enjoying the wine that was provided, she looks over her glass as Sir Rowan arrives..
Insight 7
Giles tears into the biscuits and chicken, like he’s been saving up for the evening and enjoys himself to the fullest. After he finishes, he acts almost disgusted with himself, wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin and resumes a fatherly tone and reserved aspect. As Sir Rowan enters the room, he also has a considering gaze, appraising his features, wondering about prior battle injuries and the weapons that must have left such scars on his face. He holds a mug of the ale in his left hand, and his right hand is upon the table. Quietly he produces a coin in his right hand seemingly from nowhere. He starts to roll the coin off his knuckles, back and forth in a practiced motion. He flips it over each joint and then begins again. He is observing Sir Rowan and keeping his eye on the door for the awaited visitor, almost unaware of what his right hand is doing. He does a head count in the room, looking for how many have been gathered for this task. He looks for any other priests from his order in the room, and considers how any award from the task would be split..
Perception : 21 (rolled in log)
Soren devours his serving of the chicken impressively for a slim half-elf. Mostly with his fingers and teeth, ripping bits of meat, though surprisingly deftly, leaving his mouth clean. At the end, he remembers to take a sip of ale. A small one. He seems to find it surprisingly enjoyable, taking another sip.
Finally remembering to look around at his companions and smile, Soren tries to recall... Burr had said something important. About the werewolves not being right in the head as ordinary wolves might be. Something wrong with the human part of being a werewolf. Makes sense to Soren and he nods at the man. He likes humans, though he doesn't always understand them. And sometimes, they are indeed the cause of the problems...
And Zefla, she had said something about a... "Reward? I wonder if they will reward us with more of this chicken or... ale? Or the... wine that you are drinking?" Soren takes another, bigger sip of ale, forgetting the head-splitting hangover that had resulted from a previous night of being a lightweight. "Or will it be more of the coins which we are paid for being in the militia to start with? If it is coins, what would you all do with them?"
As Sir Rowan Caskbow enters the hall, Soren listens intently as he would to any pack leader. Particularly the leader of his new pack, he muses ruefully. He returns Caskbow's searching look, reaching out for Guidance to gain Insight into the man's intentions: 12 + 3 = 15.
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Giles, your skills of perception gather you the following information:
There is no one else here. Just the four of you, this knight, and some chicken and biscuits. Admittedly, the knight looks like he has seen his way around a horse and a scrape or two, but now that you look around and really think about it... this is barely a scout party. This hardly seems like an expeditionary force such as one that would take on a marauding pack of werewolves.
You don't have to wait long until the final member of the dinner party arrives. "Right this way, Madame Bauer," you hear from one of the servers out in the upstairs hall. Into the room strides a tiefling woman, red of skin and with long jet-black hair flowing from behind her recurved brow horns. She wears a high quality traveling robe of blue and purple, which carries down to mid-calf, revealing high quality deerskin traveling boots beneath. She wears gloves to match. A warm fur cloak hangs from her shoulders and in her left hand is a staff, crowned with a carving of an angry face with a big, almost comical nose.
She looks over the room with yellow eyes. "What a miserable time of year to travel... ooh chicken..." she interrupts herself and strides forward to grab a plate. As she is removing her gloves and digging in to the food, she makes a let's get on with it gesture towards Sir Rowan.
The knight sets down his biscuit, takes another sip of wine, and begins. "Ah. Well then. Now that we are all present, please allow me to introduce the newest member of our coterie. Madame Tourmaline Bauer, special attaché to the Masked Lords of our sister city, Waterdeep. The recent lycanthrope troubles have caught the attention all the powers of the northern Sword Coast." Madame Bauer raises an eyebrow at sister city but says nothing, continuing to demolish chicken. "Madame Bauer, on behalf of the Duchess, the council, the faith of Amaunator, and the people of Daggerford... welcome."
"It is her benefactors we have to thank for some of the reward money which will be financing our little expedition," he says, turning his attention back to the rest of you. He reaches into his robes and pulls out a little folded map, freshly inked on velum. As he starts to unfurl it, he pauses. "It occurs to me... have any of you lot ever faced down a werewolf before?"
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla licks her fingers clean after a large chicken leg as she watches the newcomer. First a fancy place, now a fancy tiefling? This is not one bit what she expected when she decided to try and help out with the werewolf problems. She smiles to herself.. maybe the reward will be handsomer than she anticipated? She starts looking the woman over, seeing if she can find a purse readily available, but is brought back to Sir Rowan when he asks if anyone has faced a werewolf before.
She points a greasy finger at Soren, "Well, my friend here wants to eat one if that helps." she smiles widely enjoying herself immensely. "But no, can't say I have any experience with lycanthropes. But I'm sure I can handle it." She takes another long drink of the red wine.
Then looks up to Sir Rowan again, specifically at the folded velum, "Whatcha got there?"
Giles eyes flicker when the reward is mentioned. He has full attention on the vellum as it is unfurled. “Faced down a werewolf…” he muses to himself, tapping his chin. “Nope. Can’t say I have. But I’m sure my Lady will guide me through. And give me blessings to help those around me. But any pointers that you have I’d gladly listen to..” He keeps flipping the coin over his knuckles, this time flipping it into the air and catching it in a well practiced manner. When everyone focuses on the map, he gives Zefla a wink out of the corner of his eye, and a nod.