You each make your way to the Red Branch tavern and inn after winding your way through the streets of Bard’s Gate. To some of you the city is home, to others it may be the first visit, but everyone knows of Red Branch so it is easy to find the building you are looking for. Stepping inside you find yourself in a lush and comfortable establishment and are greeted by the smell of roasting meats, the comfortable din of chatter and a comfortably warm feeling of welcome. As per the letter which informed you of / drafted you into your membership with Red Branch you bring the letter to the bar and present it to the bartender. In exchange for the letter you are given the drink of your choice and invited to take it in the private room you are pointed to.
You enter the private room one by one (unless you happen to know someone else somehow) and find a medium sized room with several tables and a lot of comfortable chairs. Like the rest of Red Branch that you have seen it is a lush space with red wood trim which warmly reflects the light from the fireplace and lanterns which light the room. A few minutes after the first of you arrive a waitperson enters discreetly and places a tray of snacks - popped corn, roasted nuts and warm rolls - upon the table you sat and and retreats just as quietly. This process is repeated, more or less, shortly after you each arrive. Once the last of you is seated the waiter says “I’ll inform Imril that you’re all here,” as they are putting down the latest snacks.
Imril. Those of you familiar with Bard’s Gate know the name. How could you not. Imril is the captain of the Lyreguard, griffon riders that routinely patrol Bard’s Gate’s skies as well as being the elite defenders of Bard’s Gate and the Lyre Valley. Imril is a figure of unparalleled integrity and is trusted by all. His presence as part of Red Branch is surely reassuring...
---
Feel free to come on in to the backroom and have a seat! Describe how and why you got your inheritance of membership into Red Branch (or not) and your general appearance and demeanor to the others in the room. You arrive in the following random order: JFCapps , Antlan , YorkshireJoker , kqstark , ixi... If you do decide you arrive with someone then you both/all arrive when the first is scheduled to...
The drink was barely in his hand before the barmaid pointed to the backroom. Dabbert grimaced, afraid that would be the case...though why else would he have received a letter of summons if it wasn't. He took a moment to look back at her, turn the stein up, dump the contents down his throat, and then request a refill before he allowed them to usher him into the legendary Red Branch backroom.
He sat down easy enough, kicking back in a chair and nursing his drink while he waited for Imril. So, yes, it was indeed as bad as he thought it'd be. He hadn't even been out of his first tour of duty all that long, and now he's being recalled for some purpose beyond that of being a foot soldier. Shit. Shit shit shit.
He'd heard rumors of Red Branch recruitment before. Generally someone either died or nominated you. No one he knew had died, or at least he didn't think so, which meant that some dumb ba$tard somewhere thought he had the right stuff, and he just didn't think that was the case. Or maybe being off to fight the war for so long had jaded him. Whatever the case was, he was hoping there'd at least be a meal with this meeting with Imril...and whoever else he assumed was coming. And that the meal would being another refill for the stein...
The letter was still in his pocket. He took it out again, taking another look. He'd read it before...but it was such a blur. So shocking, so unexpected, and in many way so unwanted, that he'd felt completely rattled when he'd first read it. Let's see...
...blah blah blah...pleasure to inform....yack yack yack...great trust and confidence in the fidelity and ability of...yadda yadda yadda...Tiller Einherst...
F&ck! F&ck Tiller Einherst, his old company commander. That son of a...
...entitled to all the honors and benefits occuring thereunto...
He really thought life would be a lot quieter when he left the Skullsplitters. He'd forgotten so much of what he'd previously known...
The door bursts open and in walks an orc bard....but not just any orc bard....the most famous in the realm...probably more because he is the only one and not because of his actual talent. "Whoa there ladies, there's plenty of Krumar to go around. Catch me tomorrow night at Hoesies tavern down the way." Krumar closes the door and sees someone he mistakes for the wait staff "Oh pardon me young buck....you know women..." He mutters to himself
"well by the looks of you maybe not"
and loudly introduces himself in a bardic fashion "Let me introduce myself. I am the beautiful boisterous bard Krumar! Nice to make your acquaintance. Odd that the wait staff would be seated like that but no matter...Could you grab me a fresh beverage please."
He continues to looks at the fella who doesn't move to grab him a drink "Uhh right then maybe you are hard of hearing?" He gets a little closer to the guy and feels like....nah it can't be "You....You wouldn't happen to go by the name of Dellert? No, no Dingbert....Dilbert.....Nevermind...You are a waiter right? How about getting me that drink?"
Krumar patiently waits and pats the letter in his pocket. Did he come about the invitation because he is the bravest in the land? Absolutely not....Maybe because he has powerful magical abilities....hard no.....Did he win his letter in a game of dice in which he cheated? Absolutely.
After rolling their eyes and slapping their forehead, one of the nearby waitstaff approach the Half-Orc. There is a short, but much longer than should be needed, conversation between the two end eventually the (air quotes) bard (air quotes) is directed to the bar, his letter examined, and he is then firmly directed into the back room. "Better Imril's problem than mine," nearby customers hear the exasperated employee mutter and they all nod in agreement.
Dabbert watches as Krumar barges into the room, is led out, and then returned, having completely bypassed the check-in process somehow.
"Huh." He says, absent minded and mostly to himself as Krumar re-enters. "And here I thought this was some sort of elitist invitation. Guess that uh...dashes that."
Entering the bar, a skinny wastrel of a dragonborn appears not knowing quite what to do or where he is, he is pox marked and looks sickly, like a breath from him could have you bed bound for a week, not to mention the smell rising along with spores spreading from his mould filled leathers. It seems the creature uses fungi for some reason though whatever it is cannot be worth the smell that follows.
He looks around nervously when he gets to the bar. His back crooked at the same angle as his quarterstaff and his elbows tucked under his armpits like some kind of zombie raptor. He presents the letter and is given a drink, "ahhhhh water pleassse" his voice a rasp of snakelike constants. Before he is shown to the back room he drinks half of the water in his mug and then pours the rest over his head shaking his spines and frills he is ready. He opens the door and sees the two members already standing there. "Are you the other ssssacrifices? Issss thisssss where we are to die?" A genuine fear in the feels eyes as he asks, but also a quiet acceptance of the fact that he believes. He's going to be killed here.
Before Krumar can answer the man dressed as a soldier but looking like a stable boy the sickly Dragonborn waltzes in and asks if Krumar is a sacrifice "Uhh, no mate. You got the wrong place....by the looks of you, you mean to go to the hospice down the road...Dear gods above and below what is that smell"
The staff is very, very glad for the smelly lizard to move into the back room and there is a distinct delay before they settle on who is going to bring in the next tray of snacks.
Jordgubb pulls out a scroll with the red branch brand stationary header upon it, "I do not venture into townss, but I was directed to this addressss" he coughs a few times trying to cover his mouth but mostly coughing all over the parchment in his hand, and then he approaches Krumar and wafts the paper in front of the orc bard's face, "is this the right addresss?"
At that moment the door bursts open to the private room, banging hard on the wall from the force and as the three members there look towards the doorway, they have to look down to see the halfling there, large pint in one hand, greataxe in the other.
The woman eyes the three of you, a stern look upon her countenance as she does. She has long brown hair, small plats in it to hold it back from her face which showoff the dark blue markings on her face. She wears a leather vest and pants, her painted arms showing similar markings to her face.
She pounds the end of her greataxe on the floor three times, "I am Nefire Wildwillow, Child of the Wood, Slayer of Ront the Stinky, and Protector of the Whispering Glades." she nods at this and then smiles. She starts walking towards the group, gets a whiff of Jordgubb, thinks better of it and takes a seat at a table far away from the rest.
Her smile growing she takes out her letter and with excitement in her eyes and voice, "A part of The Red Branch, can you believe it? THE RED BRANCH! Me Grandma died and she told me all about it at her deathbed. I wonder how long Imril will take to get here?" She then downs the rest of the contents of her pint which is comically too large for her hand and pounds the empty on the table.
Jordgubb looks to the newcomer and gives a sympathetic smile which does not sit well on his skinny sickly face, "don't worry, people called me a Ront all my life, people can be mean... But it will all be over, sssoon."
Krumar nods "Ah yes the ballad of Ront the Stinky, brother to this one" Krumar holds his nose and points to the Dragonborn "I am Krumar, a bard of the realm....The most famous around! Perhaps you've heard of me from the little hovel you grew up in"
Nefire looks at the sickly dragonborn and cocks her head, unsure what he means by being called Ront. He wasn't Ront, Ront was dead. "What will be over soon? What are you talking about? We're just getting started!" And she knocks the butt of the axe on the floor again to punctuate her sentence.
"Hovel. Really, so is that what you're famous for? Belittling those around you?" Nefire stares at Krumar as she questions him.
Krumar can't hold is chuckle in "What? No no...I would never be little you....just a tiny joke here and there...maybe a small jest....but never be little you."
Jordgubb finds a seat to draw himself over as the other two have words, he mutters mostly to himself "we're all going to die, itss not been a bad life..."
Nefire just raises an eyebrow to Krumar's comments. "Got it, you're the bait."
She raises her mug to take another drink and sees that she has finished it already and sets it down with a clang. "I heard the service here was better, who do ya have to kill to get a refill? Krumar?"
She side-eyes the stinky one, but doesn't say anything. She then lets her eyes rest on the strong, silent type. "Who might you be?"
When Nefire asks who has to be killed to get a drink and suggest Krumar, Dabbert gestures to him with a hand.
"By all means. Don't bother killing the uh...other one. By the way he smells, he's dead already."
He air toasts his empty stein to the Halfling.
"Dabbert Hahft." Is his answer. Short. To the point. That's who he was. No fancy titles. No grand deeds. But that made him think for a moment. "On that note, who, or what, is Ront the Stinky?"
Hearing another of the Dragonborn's comments about sacrifice, Dab shakes his head.
"Calm down uh...Blorbblub? This isn't a sacrifice. Now how about you sit down and let's wait for whatever world Imril has to pass."
He wonders for a moment if sacrificing Blibblorb would really be so bad. Or Krumar. Or both.
Jordgubb sneers over at Dabbert and corrects him "itssss Jordgubb, it meansss wise man of the dirt! I guessss none of you speak druidic?..." After a moments though he asks "who is thisss Imril?"
You each make your way to the Red Branch tavern and inn after winding your way through the streets of Bard’s Gate. To some of you the city is home, to others it may be the first visit, but everyone knows of Red Branch so it is easy to find the building you are looking for. Stepping inside you find yourself in a lush and comfortable establishment and are greeted by the smell of roasting meats, the comfortable din of chatter and a comfortably warm feeling of welcome. As per the letter which informed you of / drafted you into your membership with Red Branch you bring the letter to the bar and present it to the bartender. In exchange for the letter you are given the drink of your choice and invited to take it in the private room you are pointed to.
You enter the private room one by one (unless you happen to know someone else somehow) and find a medium sized room with several tables and a lot of comfortable chairs. Like the rest of Red Branch that you have seen it is a lush space with red wood trim which warmly reflects the light from the fireplace and lanterns which light the room. A few minutes after the first of you arrive a waitperson enters discreetly and places a tray of snacks - popped corn, roasted nuts and warm rolls - upon the table you sat and and retreats just as quietly. This process is repeated, more or less, shortly after you each arrive. Once the last of you is seated the waiter says “I’ll inform Imril that you’re all here,” as they are putting down the latest snacks.
Imril. Those of you familiar with Bard’s Gate know the name. How could you not. Imril is the captain of the Lyreguard, griffon riders that routinely patrol Bard’s Gate’s skies as well as being the elite defenders of Bard’s Gate and the Lyre Valley. Imril is a figure of unparalleled integrity and is trusted by all. His presence as part of Red Branch is surely reassuring...
---
The drink was barely in his hand before the barmaid pointed to the backroom. Dabbert grimaced, afraid that would be the case...though why else would he have received a letter of summons if it wasn't. He took a moment to look back at her, turn the stein up, dump the contents down his throat, and then request a refill before he allowed them to usher him into the legendary Red Branch backroom.
He sat down easy enough, kicking back in a chair and nursing his drink while he waited for Imril. So, yes, it was indeed as bad as he thought it'd be. He hadn't even been out of his first tour of duty all that long, and now he's being recalled for some purpose beyond that of being a foot soldier. Shit. Shit shit shit.
He'd heard rumors of Red Branch recruitment before. Generally someone either died or nominated you. No one he knew had died, or at least he didn't think so, which meant that some dumb ba$tard somewhere thought he had the right stuff, and he just didn't think that was the case. Or maybe being off to fight the war for so long had jaded him. Whatever the case was, he was hoping there'd at least be a meal with this meeting with Imril...and whoever else he assumed was coming. And that the meal would being another refill for the stein...
The letter was still in his pocket. He took it out again, taking another look. He'd read it before...but it was such a blur. So shocking, so unexpected, and in many way so unwanted, that he'd felt completely rattled when he'd first read it. Let's see...
...blah blah blah...pleasure to inform....yack yack yack...great trust and confidence in the fidelity and ability of...yadda yadda yadda...Tiller Einherst...
F&ck! F&ck Tiller Einherst, his old company commander. That son of a...
...entitled to all the honors and benefits occuring thereunto...
He really thought life would be a lot quieter when he left the Skullsplitters. He'd forgotten so much of what he'd previously known...
He looked up as someone walked in...
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
The door bursts open and in walks an orc bard....but not just any orc bard....the most famous in the realm...probably more because he is the only one and not because of his actual talent. "Whoa there ladies, there's plenty of Krumar to go around. Catch me tomorrow night at Hoesies tavern down the way." Krumar closes the door and sees someone he mistakes for the wait staff "Oh pardon me young buck....you know women..." He mutters to himself
"well by the looks of you maybe not"
and loudly introduces himself in a bardic fashion "Let me introduce myself. I am the beautiful boisterous bard Krumar! Nice to make your acquaintance. Odd that the wait staff would be seated like that but no matter...Could you grab me a fresh beverage please."
He continues to looks at the fella who doesn't move to grab him a drink "Uhh right then maybe you are hard of hearing?" He gets a little closer to the guy and feels like....nah it can't be "You....You wouldn't happen to go by the name of Dellert? No, no Dingbert....Dilbert.....Nevermind...You are a waiter right? How about getting me that drink?"
Krumar patiently waits and pats the letter in his pocket. Did he come about the invitation because he is the bravest in the land? Absolutely not....Maybe because he has powerful magical abilities....hard no.....Did he win his letter in a game of dice in which he cheated? Absolutely.
After rolling their eyes and slapping their forehead, one of the nearby waitstaff approach the Half-Orc. There is a short, but much longer than should be needed, conversation between the two end eventually the (air quotes) bard (air quotes) is directed to the bar, his letter examined, and he is then firmly directed into the back room. "Better Imril's problem than mine," nearby customers hear the exasperated employee mutter and they all nod in agreement.
Dabbert watches as Krumar barges into the room, is led out, and then returned, having completely bypassed the check-in process somehow.
"Huh." He says, absent minded and mostly to himself as Krumar re-enters. "And here I thought this was some sort of elitist invitation. Guess that uh...dashes that."
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
Entering the bar, a skinny wastrel of a dragonborn appears not knowing quite what to do or where he is, he is pox marked and looks sickly, like a breath from him could have you bed bound for a week, not to mention the smell rising along with spores spreading from his mould filled leathers. It seems the creature uses fungi for some reason though whatever it is cannot be worth the smell that follows.
He looks around nervously when he gets to the bar. His back crooked at the same angle as his quarterstaff and his elbows tucked under his armpits like some kind of zombie raptor. He presents the letter and is given a drink, "ahhhhh water pleassse" his voice a rasp of snakelike constants. Before he is shown to the back room he drinks half of the water in his mug and then pours the rest over his head shaking his spines and frills he is ready. He opens the door and sees the two members already standing there. "Are you the other ssssacrifices? Issss thisssss where we are to die?" A genuine fear in the feels eyes as he asks, but also a quiet acceptance of the fact that he believes. He's going to be killed here.
Before Krumar can answer the man dressed as a soldier but looking like a stable boy the sickly Dragonborn waltzes in and asks if Krumar is a sacrifice "Uhh, no mate. You got the wrong place....by the looks of you, you mean to go to the hospice down the road...Dear gods above and below what is that smell"
The staff is very, very glad for the smelly lizard to move into the back room and there is a distinct delay before they settle on who is going to bring in the next tray of snacks.
Jordgubb pulls out a scroll with the red branch brand stationary header upon it, "I do not venture into townss, but I was directed to this addressss" he coughs a few times trying to cover his mouth but mostly coughing all over the parchment in his hand, and then he approaches Krumar and wafts the paper in front of the orc bard's face, "is this the right addresss?"
Krumar gags "Oh show him...Show him!!" Pointing to the stable boy soldier who looks like someone Krumar once knew
"oh they haven't told you guysss yet... About the fact we are all sacrificesss, sorry to bust your bubble there..."
At that moment the door bursts open to the private room, banging hard on the wall from the force and as the three members there look towards the doorway, they have to look down to see the halfling there, large pint in one hand, greataxe in the other.
The woman eyes the three of you, a stern look upon her countenance as she does. She has long brown hair, small plats in it to hold it back from her face which showoff the dark blue markings on her face. She wears a leather vest and pants, her painted arms showing similar markings to her face.
She pounds the end of her greataxe on the floor three times, "I am Nefire Wildwillow, Child of the Wood, Slayer of Ront the Stinky, and Protector of the Whispering Glades." she nods at this and then smiles. She starts walking towards the group, gets a whiff of Jordgubb, thinks better of it and takes a seat at a table far away from the rest.
Her smile growing she takes out her letter and with excitement in her eyes and voice, "A part of The Red Branch, can you believe it? THE RED BRANCH! Me Grandma died and she told me all about it at her deathbed. I wonder how long Imril will take to get here?" She then downs the rest of the contents of her pint which is comically too large for her hand and pounds the empty on the table.
Jordgubb looks to the newcomer and gives a sympathetic smile which does not sit well on his skinny sickly face, "don't worry, people called me a Ront all my life, people can be mean... But it will all be over, sssoon."
Krumar nods "Ah yes the ballad of Ront the Stinky, brother to this one" Krumar holds his nose and points to the Dragonborn "I am Krumar, a bard of the realm....The most famous around! Perhaps you've heard of me from the little hovel you grew up in"
Nefire looks at the sickly dragonborn and cocks her head, unsure what he means by being called Ront. He wasn't Ront, Ront was dead. "What will be over soon? What are you talking about? We're just getting started!" And she knocks the butt of the axe on the floor again to punctuate her sentence.
"Hovel. Really, so is that what you're famous for? Belittling those around you?" Nefire stares at Krumar as she questions him.
Krumar can't hold is chuckle in "What? No no...I would never be little you....just a tiny joke here and there...maybe a small jest....but never be little you."
Jordgubb finds a seat to draw himself over as the other two have words, he mutters mostly to himself "we're all going to die, itss not been a bad life..."
Nefire just raises an eyebrow to Krumar's comments. "Got it, you're the bait."
She raises her mug to take another drink and sees that she has finished it already and sets it down with a clang. "I heard the service here was better, who do ya have to kill to get a refill? Krumar?"
She side-eyes the stinky one, but doesn't say anything. She then lets her eyes rest on the strong, silent type. "Who might you be?"
When Nefire asks who has to be killed to get a drink and suggest Krumar, Dabbert gestures to him with a hand.
"By all means. Don't bother killing the uh...other one. By the way he smells, he's dead already."
He air toasts his empty stein to the Halfling.
"Dabbert Hahft." Is his answer. Short. To the point. That's who he was. No fancy titles. No grand deeds. But that made him think for a moment. "On that note, who, or what, is Ront the Stinky?"
Hearing another of the Dragonborn's comments about sacrifice, Dab shakes his head.
"Calm down uh...Blorbblub? This isn't a sacrifice. Now how about you sit down and let's wait for whatever world Imril has to pass."
He wonders for a moment if sacrificing Blibblorb would really be so bad. Or Krumar. Or both.
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
Jordgubb sneers over at Dabbert and corrects him "itssss Jordgubb, it meansss wise man of the dirt! I guessss none of you speak druidic?..." After a moments though he asks "who is thisss Imril?"