As the ship glides around the final bend of the Selintan River. There it is. Greyhawk City. Rising up and looking grander than you could have possibly imagined. A bustling metropolis of towering spires, commerce and folk from the farthest corners of The Flanaess.
As the ship approaches the city's docks, you see a sprawling array of wooden piers lined with boats from all over the Flanaess. Flat-bottomed barges, sleek olven skiffs, and stout dwur merchant vessels. Longshoremen haul crates from cargo holds while merchants argue over the price of goods. The scent of fresh fish and burning pitch from the shipwright's workshops fill your nostrils, while the caws of circling gulls overhead, the shouts of dockhands and the creaking of mooring ropes fill your ears. Sailors and adventurers swap tales of treasure and terror.
Beyond the docks, a shanty town of wooden shacks lines the tracks that lead up to massive walls, behind which the city's skyline looms. Majestic buildings rise up on a hill, where noble estates and the spires of temples glitter in the setting sunlight. A huge fortress stands watch over the city, its banners flapping in the breeze. A place like you have never seen before. As the dockhands prepare to secure your boat, the city's chaotic energy washes over you, and you gaze up at your destination. Before you, a vast horizon of opportunity shimmering with promise.
This last leg of your journey, sailing the Selintan River, has been a peaceful trip. Aboard your travelled vessel were many other travellers. Some you've had the opportunity to meet.
Standing near the rail of the ship, a slender young woman was ready as the first glimpses of the towering Greyhawk City came into view. Tall, thin, and a bit scrawny might have been a better description than 'slender'. It was even stranger to see the two swords at her belt and longbow and pack on her back. Dressed in studded leather and simple traveler's clothes, she certainly had the equipment of someone proficient at arms, if not the usual expected muscle. Her long brown hair was pulled into a single braid at the back, and rough bangs covered her forehead. Her pale blue eyes took in the city skyline that was now approaching, soon shifting to study all the people moving about.
Her journey downstream had not been too long, as she had boarded at Two Ford. She seemed to be traveling alone and had kept aloof for the most part, not seeking out anyone to speak with. Not that she hid in some dark corner of the ship. Much of the time she spent walking the deck, admiring the plains and other sights along the winding river course. At times she would simply sit and observe the crew at work.
Once the vessel and come into port, the ropes had been tied to secure the ship, and the ramp had been lowered to let the passengers onto the docks, she had finally moved. It was then it could be seen she picked up a lute to carry strapped to her back. Strangely, for those who had traveled with her, there had been no sign of this instrument during the trip. Not even the sounds of plucked strings from her. But it suggested perhaps a vocation in music, something that might actually feel more fitting for her physique. Slowly she moved towards the docks, clearly focused on the wonder of the shacks before the city walls, and the towering city beyond.
Aisling'sanxiety grew with every passing moment as the boat neared its destination. For someone who had spent her twenty one years in the secluded security of her family's— for lack of a better word—estate, even the number of people aboard was almost too much to bear. She kept to herself as best she could, and the moment they docked she reached for her hand mirror, gazing once more at her reflection. Everything had to be perfect. The skin, the eyes, the hair… She was still unaccustomed to shapeshifting, and this was her first time stepping into a world where her kind was unwelcome. She needed to be certain the half-elven mask she wore was flawless, that no trace of her changeling features remained.
As always, the mirror reflected a withered version of her face—but at least it was a withered version of a half-elf. Aisling exhaled, swallowing the tears that threatened to rise. That damned mirror—another gift from him, from the eldritch presence that whispered into her mind with a voice as cold as death itself. She could have left it behind, but she had chosen to keep it. A reminder of her purpose. She had to free herself from this curse, from him. Her patron had been strangely silent throughout the journey, and Aisling prayed it would remain that way...
Looking again at her reflection, Aisling noticed something she hadn’t intended. A stray lock of her hair was pale blue, unlike the rest of her brown locks. Of course. Even in silence, the Pale Prince left his mark on her shapeshifting.
Pocketing the mirror, she rose to her feet, smoothing out her clothes—a richly embroidered black dress with a fitted bodice worn over a white blouse with long, flowing sleeves, the fine craftsmanship unmistakably elven. With a final check of her belongings, she waited for the first passengers to disembark before stepping onto solid ground herself. The sight of the city before her stopped her in her tracks. It was enormous. Grand. Unlike anything she had ever seen. Aisling stood, mouth slightly agape, taking it all in as she took her first steps forward—so absorbed in the spectacle that she barely noticed where her feet were leading her. Until she collided with someone.
A woman turned, and Aisling flushed. "Oh! I—I am deeply sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Uhhhm…" She trailed off, scrambling for something to say. "You came on the same boat as me, did you not? My name is Aisling." She blurted it out before she could stop herself—unsure why she was offering her name to a total stranger, but it was already too late. Her mouth had been quicker than her brain.
It wasn't quite what he had expected as it came into view from the ship's foredeck. He had imagined something more...gem-like, perhaps splendorous, to his eyes, and in the twilight the city looked even dolorous he thought, although the faint lights from the city had some warmth to them.
The young knight had readied himself to debark with his trusty dark steed beside him, both somehwat anxious to feel the firmness of terra firma beneath them once more. He had journeyed far, from the lands to the northwest, to seek what he would think of as his destiny, led here by a certain grimoire safely tucked away in his sturdy leather backpack. He was heavily armoured, carried shield and a blade in it's scabbard, the shield emblazoned with a rampant dragon, black on red field, the hilt of the blade and the scabbard engraved with similar depictions.
The young knight carried himself proudly, but to the experienced eye it was evident that he was not only young but also quite new to what he saw around him, smiling somewhat shyly as he met the gaze of others, giving a polite and friendly nod of acknowledgement but not seeming to be in possession of the confidence necessary to simply strike up a conversation with a stranger.
He had noticed with some curiostity some of the others on the ship, wondering what business they could have to the great city of Greyhawk. It was late now though, and the first order of business would be to find a place to spend his first night here.
The river carried her forward, a gentle current guiding her toward destiny. As the ship rounded the final bend of the Selintan, Joy’s hazel eyes widened at the sight before her—Greyhawk City, sprawling and grander than she had ever imagined. It was a place of towering spires and bustling streets, where folk from every corner of the Flanaess mingled in a dance of commerce, culture, and chaos. Even from the deck, she could feel its pulse, a living, breathing entity brimming with stories waiting to be told.
The docks were alive with movement—flat-bottomed barges unloading cargo, sleek elven skiffs cutting through the waters, stout dwarven merchant ships docked beside them. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fish, burning pitch, and adventure. Joy took it all in with a deep breath, her fingers brushing the wooden circlet of her Eldercross, a reminder of who she was and who she chose to be.
She was no stranger to wary glances. The hexblood features she had long since accepted—her green-tinted skin, her sharp nails, the weight of something darker in her blood—had drawn whispers on the journey here, just as they always did. But she had long since learned to meet fear with warmth. To prove, through word and deed, that she was not what the stories made of her kind. That she was Joy, sworn to light, to the path of Pelor. A city like this—one that gleamed with promise but lurked with hidden dangers—was a place that called to her. A place where the lost could find hope, the broken could be mended, and even those teetering on the edge of darkness could still be pulled into the light. She smiled, stepping toward the gangplank as the dockhands secured the ship.
Joy had barely stepped onto the dock when something—or rather, someone—bumped into her. She turned, steadying herself with a hand on her hip, her thick green braid shifting over her shoulder. A startled half-elf girl stood before her, wide-eyed and flustered, practically tripping over her own words. Joy blinked. Then, a bright, easy laugh bubbled from her lips, warm as the morning sun. “Well, hello there! You must’ve been really lost in thought if you didn’t see me coming.” She flashed a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement rather than annoyance.
The girl—Aisling, she called herself—looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Joy tilted her head, taking her in. Richly embroidered elven finery, a posture that screamed someone unused to crowds, and an anxious energy clinging to her like a second skin. This one wasn’t just nervous—she was hiding something. Not that it mattered. Joy had long since learned that everyone carried their own burdens. Some wore them proudly, some tried to pretend they didn’t exist, and others…well, others wrapped themselves so tightly in their fears that they forgot how to breathe. Joy wasn’t one for such things. She stood out whether she wanted to or not—so she had long since chosen to accept it.
“I’m Joy.” She stuck out a hand, her sharp nails glinting in the light. “And yes, I was on the boat. Hard to miss me.”She gestured vaguely at herself—green skin, forked ears, wooden circlet nestled in her braid. Joy’s sturdy chainmail gleamed beneath a flowing white cloak, its edges embroidered with golden sunbursts in homage to Pelor, the Radiant Sun. A well-polished shield, emblazoned with Pelor’s emblem, rested on her back. At her hip hung a longsword, its leather-wrapped hilt familiar to her grip, while a set of javelins rested securely at her back. There was a teasing lilt to her voice, meant to put Aisling at ease. A gentle nudge, a reminder that the world wasn’t going to eat her alive just yet.
“Well, come on then,” Joy continued, stepping forward as she threw her arms out toward the sprawling city before them. “No sense standing here gawking. Greyhawk City awaits!”
Cleo Applesong had spent most of the journey along the Selintan River whittling a small piece of wood into the shape of a badger. This was how she liked to keep herself busy during moments of quiet. Naturally somewhat introverted and more at ease in the company of animals than people, Cleo had not especially sought out other passengers to talk to during the journey. Now the ship was coming into harbor, and Cleo came up onto the main deck. As she took in the view of Greyhawk City, the gnome's expression quickly transformed into one of amazement, mixed with a little fear. She had never left her home village of Elmshire before, had never needed to before her fool brother had gone and gotten himself missing, and she had certainly never seen anything like this before. The city was massive! It must be filled with thousands of people. The very idea made Cleo feel a bit dizzy.
Cleo takes a deep breath, steadying herself, as the boat is tied to the docks. She's far from the first to disembark. In fact, she's not too far behind a young human man, a knight by the look of his armor and weapons. The gnome doesn't even come up to his waist, and, for someone who has spent her entire life surrounded by her own kind, the height difference is disconcerting. Tall folk all looked so gangly and clumsy to her. How did they even manage to move through the world without tripping over their large feet?
"Excuse me," says Cleo, trying to get the knight's attention. "I don't suppose you have any idea where the nearest inn might be? I'm at...well, a bit of a loss. I've never been here before."
If the knight turns to look at Cleo, he will see a gnome of average height, that is to say about two and a half feet tall, with dark hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes are clear and forest green, and there is a sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks. Gnomish age can be somewhat difficult for other species to determine, but she looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Her clothes are simple, homespun wool, in natural, earthen colors. There's a small buckler strapped to her back and a sickle hanging from her belt, along with various pouches, many of them stuffed with herbs. Around her neck she wears a pendant that she whittled herself, in the shape of an elk.
If Joyexpected Aislingto stop gawking, she must have been sorely disappointed. The city before them faded into the background as the fake half-elf stared, wide-eyed, at the hexblood in front of her. A hexblood! Aisling had never seen one before, but oh, she knew about them. Sylwen, her surrogate mother, had delighted in telling her stories of the awful fey creatures who—like changelings—terrorized the good folk of Flanaess. Of course, Aisling had never fully believed her. Accepting those tales as truth would have meant acknowledging that she, too, was something terrible simply for being a changeling.
She still felt awkward and anxious, but despite it all, a tiny spark of happiness flickered inside her. What were the chances? A fey bumping into another fey so soon after arriving! It wasn't a feeling she could share with the woman before her, but she cherished it nonetheless. "Oh? You're a fey!" she blurted out—perhaps a little too loudly. "Same as—"me, she almost said, but for once, her brain outpaced her tongue, and she hastily corrected herself, "—as in the books!" Perhaps she should have been afraid. The woman offering her hand was descended from hags, after all. But she seemed so nice! How strange.
As her mind raced, her body betrayed her yet again. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and shook Joy’s hand—only to remember, too late, that she shouldn’t have done that. The moment their hands touched, Aisling jerked back, her face flushing. "I'm sorry, my hands are a bit cold." Cold was an understatement. To Joy, they must have felt freezing. How was this half-elf even alive?
Trying to move past the awkwardness, Aisling pressed on. "Ye—Yes! Greyhawk awaits. Do you know the city well? It’s my first time outside of Celene, and I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous. I don’t even know where to go! I suppose... an inn? Yes, an inn would be great. Do you happen to know a good one, Joy?"
Just then, she overheard someone nearby asking the same thing. Turning, she spotted a gnome speaking with a human, and she seemed as lost as herself. Aisling couldn’t help but smile slightly towards them. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling out of place.
A figure, barely taller than a gnome, had spent the majority of the boat ride lurking in whatever shadows he could find. He was at ease when hidden from sight. He spent his time watching the passengers of this vessel, making up backstories for each in his mind. This was Leif Little, all eighteen years of age by halfling reckoning, which meant he was practically an adult. His eyes were naturally drawn to perceived threats at first, finding a young human man with red emblazoned on his garb. Leif's mind, unbidden, flashing back to the last time he'd seen his father. It had been years now, but he remembered like yesterday the color the bandit wore when his dad was attacked and Leif had been taken. Coming back to the present, Leif marked this human as someone to keep alert around, though the knights smiles and nods to those around him made him second guess his first impression.
Leif then turned his attention to others on the boat. Each one interesting in their own ways. 'That one looks a bit green, maybe she's sea sick? Or maybe she dyed her skin for better camouflage in the forest' . Leif making up backstories for each in his imagination until his eyes found a gnome whittling a piece of wood into some kind of creature Leif had never seen before. Leif had always known most gnomes to be kind in his past so he felt comfortable enough to come out of hiding and sit next to this one. "Hi, I'm Leif. Do you by chance know a halfling family by the name of Little? I'm looking for my parents." Leif asks the question, unsure if his dad is even alive anymore.
Leif's clothes, though clean, were patched in several places. A worn leather jerkin, a bit too big for his slight frame, covered a simple linen shirt. His breeches, similarly patched, tucked into sturdy, if somewhat muddy, boots. A small, well-worn backpack rested on his shoulders, its contents a carefully curated collection of essentials: a whetstone, a tinderbox, a coil of rope, a few dried sausages, and, most importantly, his trusty (and slightly nicked) lockpicks. Attached to the side of his pack, a quiver of bolts and light crossbow he procured while escaping his captors. Not visible are the two daggers on his belt hidden but easily accessible when needed.
When the pair disembarked from the boat, Leif was temporarily mortified when Cleo asks the young knight a question and gets his attention. Leif begins to look for anywhere he can slink away and hide, but decides instead to stand his ground and be brave in this instance. 'You can do this. Don't worry son, everything will be alright.' Leif's dad's words echoed in his mind. Everything hadn't been 'alright'.'You were wrong dad!' Leif thought to himself.
His face, framed by a mop of unruly brown curls that escaped from beneath a well worn grey cloak with the hood pulled up, was a picture of youthful eagerness mixed with a touch of apprehension. Freckles danced across his nose and cheeks, and his bright, brown eyes, were now scanning the horizon, taking in the sheer size of Greyhawk for the first time.
The sounds of the city reached him: the clang of blacksmiths' hammers, the shouts of vendors hawking their wares, the rumble of carts on cobblestone streets, and the general cacophony of a thousand different conversations. He slowed his pace, a nervous flutter in his stomach. Greyhawk was bigger than he'd imagined, a labyrinth of buildings that seemed to scrape the sky. He'd heard stories from his dad, tales of grand temples, bustling marketplaces, and shadowy back alleys. He gripped the strap of his backpack a little tighter as he thinks to himself, 'woah, now what?'
Waiting in line to lead Victor onto the docks, the young knight notices three women below him, a human, a half-elf and a....something green, far too pretty to have orc-blood and the pointed ears suggested elven blood to him. They all caught his curiosity, certainly not being mere travellers, maybe even adventurers coming to the great city for reasons not unlike his own.
At the voice somewhere behind him he turns, both a bit nervous and curious about if he would be the one spoken to. It takes a moment before he notices the gnome woman below her. "I am afraid I am in ze same predicament but it would be my honor to escort you to an inn vere ve both hopefully vill find lodgings for ze night."He says with a friendly smile and a thick perrendish accent as he studies the gnome. It wasn't the first time he'd seen one but it was the first time speaking to one. He hoped he wouldn't come off as rude or unintentionally offend her. Was her being shorter something that was sensetive? He found himself starting to kneel, but then he felt silly and stood up again. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Cyriel Drachensteyn from ze Concatenated Cantons of Perrenland." He said with a courteous bow to the small lady.
Joy raised an amused brow at Aisling’s wide-eyed reaction, but the moment the girl blurted out "Oh? You're a fey!" with far too much enthusiasm, she outright laughed. It was bright and full of life, the kind of laugh that turned heads—not mocking, just thoroughly entertained. “Well, I guess you could put it that way,” she said, shaking her head, her grin widening. “But if you’ve been reading about me in books, I hope they were the good ones.”
Aisling’s handshake surprised her, but the cold—no, freezing—touch was what caught her attention. Joy barely had time to process it before the girl yanked her hand back, flustered and scrambling for an excuse. Strange, Joy thought, but she let it slide. Everyone had their secrets.
At the mention of an inn, Joy perked up. “Oh, I’ve never been to Greyhawk either! But that just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?” She spread her arms wide, as if to take in the entire city. “New place, new faces, and a thousand stories just waiting to happen! We’ll figure it out—maybe even find the best inn in the whole city.”
And just like that, she was moving, her shield bouncing slightly on her arm as she strode toward a small group nearby—a gnome, a knightly-looking human, and a halfling, engaged in what sounded like a similar conversation. Without a moment’s hesitation, Joy stopped beside them, beaming. “Hey there! You lot were on the boat, right? We’re looking for an inn, too! Seems only natural we stick together—strength in numbers and all that. I’m Joy, and this is Aisling.” She gestured toward her companion with an encouraging smile. “Any of you have an idea where to go, or are we about to embark on a grand quest for lodgings together?” There was a playful excitement in her voice, as if this were just another adventure to be tackled head-on.
Leif, watching the green skinned Joy interact with the others, quickly decides he likes this woman. Though still guarded and withdrawn, Leif hesitates to engage in the conversation. He's unsure if he should wander off on his own or follow this group. As Joy mentions, "...strength in numbers..." He makes up his mind and decides to accompany the group to an Inn. 'I am a bit tired from my journey here.' Leif thinks to himself. "Can I come?" Leif asks the group, immediately regretting the attention he draws to himself.
As he and the gnomish woman are both down on the docks, the young knight notices the halfling standing closeby, giving him too an uncertain but friendly smile. Were the small ones a couple or merely travelling together? He was just about to adress the halfling as the green-skinned woman walks up to them. He wished he had her confidence. Her cheerful confidence was even more impressive considering she must have had her fair share of distrust, and having the most fitting of names he felt with a shy smile. He found himself nervous in her presence, but it wasn't the hue of her skin.
"Greetings Joy, greetings Aisling, I am Cyriel Drachensteyn from ze Concatenated Cantons of Perrenland." He says to the two women with a graceful bow, a bit more formal than intended. "It would be my sincere pleasure to have your company." His upbringing told him to be a chivalrous but these were clearly not defenseless women, more likely they would all hand his behind to him if they so decided, Joy quite possibly even being a pelorian paladin judging by the emblem on her shield.
As the halfling speaks up, the young knight at first gives him a quizzical look which quickly turns into a friendly smile. "Of course you can come, but share with us your name first."He says, fairly confident the others present would all agree to this.
Lusia walked slowly along with the crowd along the dock. Her eyes had been focused on the city in the distance, but a commotion ahead of her drew her attention back to her more immediate path. A young half-elf woman had run into another traveler, a mishap that could have easily been hers. She slows to nearly a halt as she hears the two conversing - Aisling and Joy she notes. 'Wait though, is that girl's skin green? That must be the same one I saw on the ship!' she thought to herself. Her mind had previously gone through countless scenarios about the lineage of this person. She had settled on 'strange elf' in her own mind. Though she really had no idea at all.
Keeping out of the way and remaining quiet she had listened to their brief conversation, trying to stay inconspicuous. The two talked about finding an inn, which is what she needed as well, so when they started to move again, she followed. She was a little surprised she interrupted another group. 'But perhaps she knows them,' she thinks, not imagining any other reason she would have approached them. She figures it best to just keep on moving, not wanting to get in the way of friends. Keeping her eyes open, she tries to spot any place that might offer lodgings.
'Oh great, now he wants to know my name.'Leifthinks to himself. 'Good going, you fool of a halfling.'
Choosing to answer as Cyriel smiles, and other eyes turn his direction, "My name is Leif... Leif Little." He looks down at his feet after answering before reminding himself to stay alert. 'You can't defend yourself against a threat you don't see.' His gaze again returns to the people gathered around him, still searching for where he fits in and constantly scanning the area for an exit strategy.
"Greetings Leif Little." The young knight says with a polite bow to the halfling. "So ve are all visiting Greyhawk for the first time zen?" He continues, looking around at those assembled at the docks in the evening light. "Let us go inside ze city and perhaps ze guards at ze gate vill be able to direct us to a good inn zat can accomodate us all." He suggests, seeming ready to get going, his black steed impatiently moving it's hooves.
Beginning to warm to the young knight before him, Leif laughs a little as the knight suggests a course of action, "You talk funny mister. Thanks for letting me tag along." While this conversation plays out, the young halfling spies the slender young woman with armor, weapons, and a lute walk past the group. 'Interesting combination.'Leif thinks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard music played. Turning back to CyrielLeif adds, "Yep, I was supposed to come here once before. A long time ago, but we..." He trails off before continuing a moment later, "Never mind about that. Yeah, this is my first time here."
Leif's mood darkens as his mind drifts back to his dad.
Joy took to Cyriel immediately. His formality was almost endearing, and his chivalry—though unnecessary—was given with genuine warmth. She could see it in his nervous smile, the way his eyes flicked to her shield in recognition. He was kind, and kind people were always worth knowing.
She clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm but friendly. "Pleasure’s ours, Cyriel! And don’t worry, we won’t make you bow every time we say hello," she teased, flashing him a playful grin.
Her attention shifted to the halfling as he muttered his name—Leif Little—his voice small, his gaze flickering toward the ground before snapping back up with practiced caution. A nervous one. A watcher. He reminded her of some of the more skittish folk she had met on the road, the ones always waiting for something to go wrong. But he was still here, still choosing to join them. That counted for something.
When Leif laughed and called out Cyriel’s accent, Joy couldn’t help but chuckle too. “I like the way he talks! Sounds proper, don’t you think?” she said, nudging Aisling with a grin. “And as for you, Leif—of course you’re tagging along. You were on the same boat, weren’t you? That makes you practically family.”
Aisling followed after Joy, letting the hexblood initiate the conversation with the other group. She waved shyly from behind the taller woman as Joy introduced them both. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Cyriel, Leif." she said, perhaps a little more formally than necessary. Aisling glanced at the gnome, too. "And... Cleo?" She hesitated, unsure if she had heard the name correctly.
Sensing a presence behind her, the makeshift half-elf turned to notice another woman approaching, though the stranger seemed intent on continuing past them. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to speak to yet another stranger on this curious day, but she did so anyway. This one carried two swords—and, more curiously, a lute.
"Excuse me!"Aisling called. "You were on our boat too, weren’t you? Are you looking for lodging? We were just discussing finding a place for all of us. Would you like to join us?"
Lusia almost jumped as the woman who had called herself Aisling spoke to her. "Oh! Hmm? Yea, Yes." She pauses a moment to collect herself. "I mean, yes to both questions, The boat and the inn parts." She takes a look around to the others - gnome, halfling, armored human, and... whatever the green girl was. "I wouldn't wish to interrupt you and your friends," she tells the half-elf. She pulls the strap that hold her lute to her back, shifting the weight to be a bit more comfortable. "I'm sure I'll manage." She then gives a brief laugh. "Though I suppose we're probably headed the same way."
As you debark from the ship, the crowd chokes the traffic on the dock. The stall gives an opportunity to make polite acquaintances. The pleasant interactions and shared objective of seeking lodgings at the forefront of most minds have already given rise to a plan.
Lusia almost jumped as the woman who had called herself Aisling spoke to her. "Oh! Hmm? Yea, Yes." She pauses a moment to collect herself. "I mean, yes to both questions, The boat and the inn parts." She takes a look around to the others - gnome, halfling, armored human, and... whatever the green girl was. "I wouldn't wish to interrupt you and your friends," she tells the half-elf. She pulls the strap that hold her lute to her back, shifting the weight to be a bit more comfortable. "I'm sure I'll manage." She then gives a brief laugh. "Though I suppose we're probably headed the same way."
No sooner had Lusia replied when you hear a commotion from the pathways leading up to the city. Several panicked voices yell out. As you look up, a distant awning flies up into the air. Some sort of commotion is evident ahead. The ruckus intensifies as an out-of-control wagon, followed by several desperately sprinting men, rolls headlong toward the docked ship. Several of the crowd before you gasp and push back as you see a caged cart, with several folks seemingly trapped inside, barrel past and launch off the top of the jetty, smashing into the bowsprit of the ship with a crunching crash before plunging into the river and rapidly sinking into the dark waters below. Bubbles frothing to the surface. Some seconds of rising air continue before dissipating, and some final air bubbles to the surface before the water stills. The three trailing men stand above the water's edge, panting, breathless and clearly distressed. One holds his head with both his hands. Another desperately looks for a way down to the water, while the third stands frozen, his mouth agape.
You and everyone standing upon the jetty crowd at the edge, looking down at the water some six feet below the boardwalk.
As the ship glides around the final bend of the Selintan River. There it is. Greyhawk City. Rising up and looking grander than you could have possibly imagined. A bustling metropolis of towering spires, commerce and folk from the farthest corners of The Flanaess.
As the ship approaches the city's docks, you see a sprawling array of wooden piers lined with boats from all over the Flanaess. Flat-bottomed barges, sleek olven skiffs, and stout dwur merchant vessels. Longshoremen haul crates from cargo holds while merchants argue over the price of goods. The scent of fresh fish and burning pitch from the shipwright's workshops fill your nostrils, while the caws of circling gulls overhead, the shouts of dockhands and the creaking of mooring ropes fill your ears. Sailors and adventurers swap tales of treasure and terror.
Beyond the docks, a shanty town of wooden shacks lines the tracks that lead up to massive walls, behind which the city's skyline looms. Majestic buildings rise up on a hill, where noble estates and the spires of temples glitter in the setting sunlight. A huge fortress stands watch over the city, its banners flapping in the breeze. A place like you have never seen before. As the dockhands prepare to secure your boat, the city's chaotic energy washes over you, and you gaze up at your destination. Before you, a vast horizon of opportunity shimmering with promise.
This last leg of your journey, sailing the Selintan River, has been a peaceful trip. Aboard your travelled vessel were many other travellers. Some you've had the opportunity to meet.
Please introduce your characters.
Standing near the rail of the ship, a slender young woman was ready as the first glimpses of the towering Greyhawk City came into view. Tall, thin, and a bit scrawny might have been a better description than 'slender'. It was even stranger to see the two swords at her belt and longbow and pack on her back. Dressed in studded leather and simple traveler's clothes, she certainly had the equipment of someone proficient at arms, if not the usual expected muscle. Her long brown hair was pulled into a single braid at the back, and rough bangs covered her forehead. Her pale blue eyes took in the city skyline that was now approaching, soon shifting to study all the people moving about.
Her journey downstream had not been too long, as she had boarded at Two Ford. She seemed to be traveling alone and had kept aloof for the most part, not seeking out anyone to speak with. Not that she hid in some dark corner of the ship. Much of the time she spent walking the deck, admiring the plains and other sights along the winding river course. At times she would simply sit and observe the crew at work.
Once the vessel and come into port, the ropes had been tied to secure the ship, and the ramp had been lowered to let the passengers onto the docks, she had finally moved. It was then it could be seen she picked up a lute to carry strapped to her back. Strangely, for those who had traveled with her, there had been no sign of this instrument during the trip. Not even the sounds of plucked strings from her. But it suggested perhaps a vocation in music, something that might actually feel more fitting for her physique. Slowly she moved towards the docks, clearly focused on the wonder of the shacks before the city walls, and the towering city beyond.
Lusia had arrived.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Lusia Varusk, Fighter || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue
Aisling's anxiety grew with every passing moment as the boat neared its destination. For someone who had spent her twenty one years in the secluded security of her family's— for lack of a better word—estate, even the number of people aboard was almost too much to bear. She kept to herself as best she could, and the moment they docked she reached for her hand mirror, gazing once more at her reflection. Everything had to be perfect. The skin, the eyes, the hair… She was still unaccustomed to shapeshifting, and this was her first time stepping into a world where her kind was unwelcome. She needed to be certain the half-elven mask she wore was flawless, that no trace of her changeling features remained.
As always, the mirror reflected a withered version of her face—but at least it was a withered version of a half-elf. Aisling exhaled, swallowing the tears that threatened to rise. That damned mirror—another gift from him, from the eldritch presence that whispered into her mind with a voice as cold as death itself. She could have left it behind, but she had chosen to keep it. A reminder of her purpose. She had to free herself from this curse, from him. Her patron had been strangely silent throughout the journey, and Aisling prayed it would remain that way...
Looking again at her reflection, Aisling noticed something she hadn’t intended. A stray lock of her hair was pale blue, unlike the rest of her brown locks. Of course. Even in silence, the Pale Prince left his mark on her shapeshifting.
(Art by hskachu)
Aisling's true aspect.
Aisling wearing her half-elf mask.
Pocketing the mirror, she rose to her feet, smoothing out her clothes—a richly embroidered black dress with a fitted bodice worn over a white blouse with long, flowing sleeves, the fine craftsmanship unmistakably elven. With a final check of her belongings, she waited for the first passengers to disembark before stepping onto solid ground herself. The sight of the city before her stopped her in her tracks. It was enormous. Grand. Unlike anything she had ever seen. Aisling stood, mouth slightly agape, taking it all in as she took her first steps forward—so absorbed in the spectacle that she barely noticed where her feet were leading her. Until she collided with someone.
A woman turned, and Aisling flushed. "Oh! I—I am deeply sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Uhhhm…" She trailed off, scrambling for something to say. "You came on the same boat as me, did you not? My name is Aisling." She blurted it out before she could stop herself—unsure why she was offering her name to a total stranger, but it was already too late. Her mouth had been quicker than her brain.
Diving deep to the surface ♫ Nessa | Saxa | Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren
The Gem of Flanaess.
It wasn't quite what he had expected as it came into view from the ship's foredeck. He had imagined something more...gem-like, perhaps splendorous, to his eyes, and in the twilight the city looked even dolorous he thought, although the faint lights from the city had some warmth to them.
The young knight had readied himself to debark with his trusty dark steed beside him, both somehwat anxious to feel the firmness of terra firma beneath them once more. He had journeyed far, from the lands to the northwest, to seek what he would think of as his destiny, led here by a certain grimoire safely tucked away in his sturdy leather backpack. He was heavily armoured, carried shield and a blade in it's scabbard, the shield emblazoned with a rampant dragon, black on red field, the hilt of the blade and the scabbard engraved with similar depictions.
The young knight carried himself proudly, but to the experienced eye it was evident that he was not only young but also quite new to what he saw around him, smiling somewhat shyly as he met the gaze of others, giving a polite and friendly nod of acknowledgement but not seeming to be in possession of the confidence necessary to simply strike up a conversation with a stranger.
He had noticed with some curiostity some of the others on the ship, wondering what business they could have to the great city of Greyhawk. It was late now though, and the first order of business would be to find a place to spend his first night here.
The river carried her forward, a gentle current guiding her toward destiny. As the ship rounded the final bend of the Selintan, Joy’s hazel eyes widened at the sight before her—Greyhawk City, sprawling and grander than she had ever imagined. It was a place of towering spires and bustling streets, where folk from every corner of the Flanaess mingled in a dance of commerce, culture, and chaos. Even from the deck, she could feel its pulse, a living, breathing entity brimming with stories waiting to be told.
The docks were alive with movement—flat-bottomed barges unloading cargo, sleek elven skiffs cutting through the waters, stout dwarven merchant ships docked beside them. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fish, burning pitch, and adventure. Joy took it all in with a deep breath, her fingers brushing the wooden circlet of her Eldercross, a reminder of who she was and who she chose to be.
She was no stranger to wary glances. The hexblood features she had long since accepted—her green-tinted skin, her sharp nails, the weight of something darker in her blood—had drawn whispers on the journey here, just as they always did. But she had long since learned to meet fear with warmth. To prove, through word and deed, that she was not what the stories made of her kind. That she was Joy, sworn to light, to the path of Pelor. A city like this—one that gleamed with promise but lurked with hidden dangers—was a place that called to her. A place where the lost could find hope, the broken could be mended, and even those teetering on the edge of darkness could still be pulled into the light. She smiled, stepping toward the gangplank as the dockhands secured the ship.
Joy had barely stepped onto the dock when something—or rather, someone—bumped into her. She turned, steadying herself with a hand on her hip, her thick green braid shifting over her shoulder. A startled half-elf girl stood before her, wide-eyed and flustered, practically tripping over her own words. Joy blinked. Then, a bright, easy laugh bubbled from her lips, warm as the morning sun. “Well, hello there! You must’ve been really lost in thought if you didn’t see me coming.” She flashed a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement rather than annoyance.
The girl—Aisling, she called herself—looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Joy tilted her head, taking her in. Richly embroidered elven finery, a posture that screamed someone unused to crowds, and an anxious energy clinging to her like a second skin. This one wasn’t just nervous—she was hiding something. Not that it mattered. Joy had long since learned that everyone carried their own burdens. Some wore them proudly, some tried to pretend they didn’t exist, and others…well, others wrapped themselves so tightly in their fears that they forgot how to breathe. Joy wasn’t one for such things. She stood out whether she wanted to or not—so she had long since chosen to accept it.
“I’m Joy.” She stuck out a hand, her sharp nails glinting in the light. “And yes, I was on the boat. Hard to miss me.” She gestured vaguely at herself—green skin, forked ears, wooden circlet nestled in her braid. Joy’s sturdy chainmail gleamed beneath a flowing white cloak, its edges embroidered with golden sunbursts in homage to Pelor, the Radiant Sun. A well-polished shield, emblazoned with Pelor’s emblem, rested on her back. At her hip hung a longsword, its leather-wrapped hilt familiar to her grip, while a set of javelins rested securely at her back. There was a teasing lilt to her voice, meant to put Aisling at ease. A gentle nudge, a reminder that the world wasn’t going to eat her alive just yet.
“Well, come on then,” Joy continued, stepping forward as she threw her arms out toward the sprawling city before them. “No sense standing here gawking. Greyhawk City awaits!”
Cleo Applesong had spent most of the journey along the Selintan River whittling a small piece of wood into the shape of a badger. This was how she liked to keep herself busy during moments of quiet. Naturally somewhat introverted and more at ease in the company of animals than people, Cleo had not especially sought out other passengers to talk to during the journey. Now the ship was coming into harbor, and Cleo came up onto the main deck. As she took in the view of Greyhawk City, the gnome's expression quickly transformed into one of amazement, mixed with a little fear. She had never left her home village of Elmshire before, had never needed to before her fool brother had gone and gotten himself missing, and she had certainly never seen anything like this before. The city was massive! It must be filled with thousands of people. The very idea made Cleo feel a bit dizzy.
Cleo takes a deep breath, steadying herself, as the boat is tied to the docks. She's far from the first to disembark. In fact, she's not too far behind a young human man, a knight by the look of his armor and weapons. The gnome doesn't even come up to his waist, and, for someone who has spent her entire life surrounded by her own kind, the height difference is disconcerting. Tall folk all looked so gangly and clumsy to her. How did they even manage to move through the world without tripping over their large feet?
"Excuse me," says Cleo, trying to get the knight's attention. "I don't suppose you have any idea where the nearest inn might be? I'm at...well, a bit of a loss. I've never been here before."
If the knight turns to look at Cleo, he will see a gnome of average height, that is to say about two and a half feet tall, with dark hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes are clear and forest green, and there is a sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks. Gnomish age can be somewhat difficult for other species to determine, but she looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Her clothes are simple, homespun wool, in natural, earthen colors. There's a small buckler strapped to her back and a sickle hanging from her belt, along with various pouches, many of them stuffed with herbs. Around her neck she wears a pendant that she whittled herself, in the shape of an elk.
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf - Lvl. 4 Halfling Rogue (The Shattered Obelisk) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan - Lvl. 10 Half-Elf Sorcerer (Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick - Lvl. 4 Aasimar Paladin (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Selene Albion - Lvl. 12 Human Ranger (In-Person Homebrew Campaign) ♦ Phaerdra Tor'viir - Lvl. 3 Drow Wizard (Exandria Sandbox Campaign)
If Joy expected Aisling to stop gawking, she must have been sorely disappointed. The city before them faded into the background as the fake half-elf stared, wide-eyed, at the hexblood in front of her. A hexblood! Aisling had never seen one before, but oh, she knew about them. Sylwen, her surrogate mother, had delighted in telling her stories of the awful fey creatures who—like changelings—terrorized the good folk of Flanaess. Of course, Aisling had never fully believed her. Accepting those tales as truth would have meant acknowledging that she, too, was something terrible simply for being a changeling.
She still felt awkward and anxious, but despite it all, a tiny spark of happiness flickered inside her. What were the chances? A fey bumping into another fey so soon after arriving! It wasn't a feeling she could share with the woman before her, but she cherished it nonetheless. "Oh? You're a fey!" she blurted out—perhaps a little too loudly. "Same as—" me, she almost said, but for once, her brain outpaced her tongue, and she hastily corrected herself, "—as in the books!" Perhaps she should have been afraid. The woman offering her hand was descended from hags, after all. But she seemed so nice! How strange.
As her mind raced, her body betrayed her yet again. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and shook Joy’s hand—only to remember, too late, that she shouldn’t have done that. The moment their hands touched, Aisling jerked back, her face flushing. "I'm sorry, my hands are a bit cold." Cold was an understatement. To Joy, they must have felt freezing. How was this half-elf even alive?
Trying to move past the awkwardness, Aisling pressed on. "Ye—Yes! Greyhawk awaits. Do you know the city well? It’s my first time outside of Celene, and I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous. I don’t even know where to go! I suppose... an inn? Yes, an inn would be great. Do you happen to know a good one, Joy?"
Just then, she overheard someone nearby asking the same thing. Turning, she spotted a gnome speaking with a human, and she seemed as lost as herself. Aisling couldn’t help but smile slightly towards them. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling out of place.
Diving deep to the surface ♫ Nessa | Saxa | Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren
A figure, barely taller than a gnome, had spent the majority of the boat ride lurking in whatever shadows he could find. He was at ease when hidden from sight. He spent his time watching the passengers of this vessel, making up backstories for each in his mind. This was Leif Little, all eighteen years of age by halfling reckoning, which meant he was practically an adult. His eyes were naturally drawn to perceived threats at first, finding a young human man with red emblazoned on his garb. Leif's mind, unbidden, flashing back to the last time he'd seen his father. It had been years now, but he remembered like yesterday the color the bandit wore when his dad was attacked and Leif had been taken. Coming back to the present, Leif marked this human as someone to keep alert around, though the knights smiles and nods to those around him made him second guess his first impression.
Leif then turned his attention to others on the boat. Each one interesting in their own ways. 'That one looks a bit green, maybe she's sea sick? Or maybe she dyed her skin for better camouflage in the forest' . Leif making up backstories for each in his imagination until his eyes found a gnome whittling a piece of wood into some kind of creature Leif had never seen before. Leif had always known most gnomes to be kind in his past so he felt comfortable enough to come out of hiding and sit next to this one. "Hi, I'm Leif. Do you by chance know a halfling family by the name of Little? I'm looking for my parents." Leif asks the question, unsure if his dad is even alive anymore.
Leif's clothes, though clean, were patched in several places. A worn leather jerkin, a bit too big for his slight frame, covered a simple linen shirt. His breeches, similarly patched, tucked into sturdy, if somewhat muddy, boots. A small, well-worn backpack rested on his shoulders, its contents a carefully curated collection of essentials: a whetstone, a tinderbox, a coil of rope, a few dried sausages, and, most importantly, his trusty (and slightly nicked) lockpicks. Attached to the side of his pack, a quiver of bolts and light crossbow he procured while escaping his captors. Not visible are the two daggers on his belt hidden but easily accessible when needed.
When the pair disembarked from the boat, Leif was temporarily mortified when Cleo asks the young knight a question and gets his attention. Leif begins to look for anywhere he can slink away and hide, but decides instead to stand his ground and be brave in this instance. 'You can do this. Don't worry son, everything will be alright.' Leif's dad's words echoed in his mind. Everything hadn't been 'alright'. 'You were wrong dad!' Leif thought to himself.
His face, framed by a mop of unruly brown curls that escaped from beneath a well worn grey cloak with the hood pulled up, was a picture of youthful eagerness mixed with a touch of apprehension. Freckles danced across his nose and cheeks, and his bright, brown eyes, were now scanning the horizon, taking in the sheer size of Greyhawk for the first time.
The sounds of the city reached him: the clang of blacksmiths' hammers, the shouts of vendors hawking their wares, the rumble of carts on cobblestone streets, and the general cacophony of a thousand different conversations. He slowed his pace, a nervous flutter in his stomach. Greyhawk was bigger than he'd imagined, a labyrinth of buildings that seemed to scrape the sky. He'd heard stories from his dad, tales of grand temples, bustling marketplaces, and shadowy back alleys. He gripped the strap of his backpack a little tighter as he thinks to himself, 'woah, now what?'
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Waiting in line to lead Victor onto the docks, the young knight notices three women below him, a human, a half-elf and a....something green, far too pretty to have orc-blood and the pointed ears suggested elven blood to him. They all caught his curiosity, certainly not being mere travellers, maybe even adventurers coming to the great city for reasons not unlike his own.
At the voice somewhere behind him he turns, both a bit nervous and curious about if he would be the one spoken to. It takes a moment before he notices the gnome woman below her. "I am afraid I am in ze same predicament but it would be my honor to escort you to an inn vere ve both hopefully vill find lodgings for ze night." He says with a friendly smile and a thick perrendish accent as he studies the gnome. It wasn't the first time he'd seen one but it was the first time speaking to one. He hoped he wouldn't come off as rude or unintentionally offend her. Was her being shorter something that was sensetive? He found himself starting to kneel, but then he felt silly and stood up again. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Cyriel Drachensteyn from ze Concatenated Cantons of Perrenland." He said with a courteous bow to the small lady.
Joy raised an amused brow at Aisling’s wide-eyed reaction, but the moment the girl blurted out "Oh? You're a fey!" with far too much enthusiasm, she outright laughed. It was bright and full of life, the kind of laugh that turned heads—not mocking, just thoroughly entertained. “Well, I guess you could put it that way,” she said, shaking her head, her grin widening. “But if you’ve been reading about me in books, I hope they were the good ones.”
Aisling’s handshake surprised her, but the cold—no, freezing—touch was what caught her attention. Joy barely had time to process it before the girl yanked her hand back, flustered and scrambling for an excuse. Strange, Joy thought, but she let it slide. Everyone had their secrets.
At the mention of an inn, Joy perked up. “Oh, I’ve never been to Greyhawk either! But that just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?” She spread her arms wide, as if to take in the entire city. “New place, new faces, and a thousand stories just waiting to happen! We’ll figure it out—maybe even find the best inn in the whole city.”
And just like that, she was moving, her shield bouncing slightly on her arm as she strode toward a small group nearby—a gnome, a knightly-looking human, and a halfling, engaged in what sounded like a similar conversation. Without a moment’s hesitation, Joy stopped beside them, beaming. “Hey there! You lot were on the boat, right? We’re looking for an inn, too! Seems only natural we stick together—strength in numbers and all that. I’m Joy, and this is Aisling.” She gestured toward her companion with an encouraging smile. “Any of you have an idea where to go, or are we about to embark on a grand quest for lodgings together?” There was a playful excitement in her voice, as if this were just another adventure to be tackled head-on.
Leif, watching the green skinned Joy interact with the others, quickly decides he likes this woman. Though still guarded and withdrawn, Leif hesitates to engage in the conversation. He's unsure if he should wander off on his own or follow this group. As Joy mentions, "...strength in numbers..." He makes up his mind and decides to accompany the group to an Inn. 'I am a bit tired from my journey here.' Leif thinks to himself. "Can I come?" Leif asks the group, immediately regretting the attention he draws to himself.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
As he and the gnomish woman are both down on the docks, the young knight notices the halfling standing closeby, giving him too an uncertain but friendly smile. Were the small ones a couple or merely travelling together? He was just about to adress the halfling as the green-skinned woman walks up to them. He wished he had her confidence. Her cheerful confidence was even more impressive considering she must have had her fair share of distrust, and having the most fitting of names he felt with a shy smile. He found himself nervous in her presence, but it wasn't the hue of her skin.
"Greetings Joy, greetings Aisling, I am Cyriel Drachensteyn from ze Concatenated Cantons of Perrenland." He says to the two women with a graceful bow, a bit more formal than intended. "It would be my sincere pleasure to have your company." His upbringing told him to be a chivalrous but these were clearly not defenseless women, more likely they would all hand his behind to him if they so decided, Joy quite possibly even being a pelorian paladin judging by the emblem on her shield.
As the halfling speaks up, the young knight at first gives him a quizzical look which quickly turns into a friendly smile. "Of course you can come, but share with us your name first." He says, fairly confident the others present would all agree to this.
Lusia walked slowly along with the crowd along the dock. Her eyes had been focused on the city in the distance, but a commotion ahead of her drew her attention back to her more immediate path. A young half-elf woman had run into another traveler, a mishap that could have easily been hers. She slows to nearly a halt as she hears the two conversing - Aisling and Joy she notes. 'Wait though, is that girl's skin green? That must be the same one I saw on the ship!' she thought to herself. Her mind had previously gone through countless scenarios about the lineage of this person. She had settled on 'strange elf' in her own mind. Though she really had no idea at all.
Keeping out of the way and remaining quiet she had listened to their brief conversation, trying to stay inconspicuous. The two talked about finding an inn, which is what she needed as well, so when they started to move again, she followed. She was a little surprised she interrupted another group. 'But perhaps she knows them,' she thinks, not imagining any other reason she would have approached them. She figures it best to just keep on moving, not wanting to get in the way of friends. Keeping her eyes open, she tries to spot any place that might offer lodgings.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Lusia Varusk, Fighter || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue
'Oh great, now he wants to know my name.' Leif thinks to himself. 'Good going, you fool of a halfling.'
Choosing to answer as Cyriel smiles, and other eyes turn his direction, "My name is Leif... Leif Little." He looks down at his feet after answering before reminding himself to stay alert. 'You can't defend yourself against a threat you don't see.' His gaze again returns to the people gathered around him, still searching for where he fits in and constantly scanning the area for an exit strategy.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
"Greetings Leif Little." The young knight says with a polite bow to the halfling. "So ve are all visiting Greyhawk for the first time zen?" He continues, looking around at those assembled at the docks in the evening light. "Let us go inside ze city and perhaps ze guards at ze gate vill be able to direct us to a good inn zat can accomodate us all." He suggests, seeming ready to get going, his black steed impatiently moving it's hooves.
Beginning to warm to the young knight before him, Leif laughs a little as the knight suggests a course of action, "You talk funny mister. Thanks for letting me tag along." While this conversation plays out, the young halfling spies the slender young woman with armor, weapons, and a lute walk past the group. 'Interesting combination.' Leif thinks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard music played. Turning back to Cyriel Leif adds, "Yep, I was supposed to come here once before. A long time ago, but we..." He trails off before continuing a moment later, "Never mind about that. Yeah, this is my first time here."
Leif's mood darkens as his mind drifts back to his dad.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Joy took to Cyriel immediately. His formality was almost endearing, and his chivalry—though unnecessary—was given with genuine warmth. She could see it in his nervous smile, the way his eyes flicked to her shield in recognition. He was kind, and kind people were always worth knowing.
She clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm but friendly. "Pleasure’s ours, Cyriel! And don’t worry, we won’t make you bow every time we say hello," she teased, flashing him a playful grin.
Her attention shifted to the halfling as he muttered his name—Leif Little—his voice small, his gaze flickering toward the ground before snapping back up with practiced caution. A nervous one. A watcher. He reminded her of some of the more skittish folk she had met on the road, the ones always waiting for something to go wrong. But he was still here, still choosing to join them. That counted for something.
When Leif laughed and called out Cyriel’s accent, Joy couldn’t help but chuckle too. “I like the way he talks! Sounds proper, don’t you think?” she said, nudging Aisling with a grin. “And as for you, Leif—of course you’re tagging along. You were on the same boat, weren’t you? That makes you practically family.”
Aisling followed after Joy, letting the hexblood initiate the conversation with the other group. She waved shyly from behind the taller woman as Joy introduced them both. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Cyriel, Leif." she said, perhaps a little more formally than necessary. Aisling glanced at the gnome, too. "And... Cleo?" She hesitated, unsure if she had heard the name correctly.
Sensing a presence behind her, the makeshift half-elf turned to notice another woman approaching, though the stranger seemed intent on continuing past them. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to speak to yet another stranger on this curious day, but she did so anyway. This one carried two swords—and, more curiously, a lute.
"Excuse me!" Aisling called. "You were on our boat too, weren’t you? Are you looking for lodging? We were just discussing finding a place for all of us. Would you like to join us?"
Diving deep to the surface ♫ Nessa | Saxa | Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren
Lusia almost jumped as the woman who had called herself Aisling spoke to her. "Oh! Hmm? Yea, Yes." She pauses a moment to collect herself. "I mean, yes to both questions, The boat and the inn parts." She takes a look around to the others - gnome, halfling, armored human, and... whatever the green girl was. "I wouldn't wish to interrupt you and your friends," she tells the half-elf. She pulls the strap that hold her lute to her back, shifting the weight to be a bit more comfortable. "I'm sure I'll manage." She then gives a brief laugh. "Though I suppose we're probably headed the same way."
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Lusia Varusk, Fighter || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue
Early evening, Earthday, 6th of Readying, 576 CY.
As you debark from the ship, the crowd chokes the traffic on the dock. The stall gives an opportunity to make polite acquaintances. The pleasant interactions and shared objective of seeking lodgings at the forefront of most minds have already given rise to a plan.
No sooner had Lusia replied when you hear a commotion from the pathways leading up to the city. Several panicked voices yell out. As you look up, a distant awning flies up into the air. Some sort of commotion is evident ahead. The ruckus intensifies as an out-of-control wagon, followed by several desperately sprinting men, rolls headlong toward the docked ship. Several of the crowd before you gasp and push back as you see a caged cart, with several folks seemingly trapped inside, barrel past and launch off the top of the jetty, smashing into the bowsprit of the ship with a crunching crash before plunging into the river and rapidly sinking into the dark waters below. Bubbles frothing to the surface. Some seconds of rising air continue before dissipating, and some final air bubbles to the surface before the water stills. The three trailing men stand above the water's edge, panting, breathless and clearly distressed. One holds his head with both his hands. Another desperately looks for a way down to the water, while the third stands frozen, his mouth agape.
You and everyone standing upon the jetty crowd at the edge, looking down at the water some six feet below the boardwalk.