An icy wind howls amongst the craggy heights of the Ice Cap Peaks, carrying with it thunder and fresh snow from the southern reaches. Storms are common in Sheercleft at this time of year and most windows are boarded up or shuttered closed. The lion's share of the village is made up of rickety wooden buildings and the broad basin in which the little mining settlement has grown resounds with rattles and creaks as the weather batters them about.
Now especially, many seek refuge in the few contructions boasting stone to hold back the fierce winds. Of these, the most popular and accessible is naturally Ringrut's tavern. Located at the heart of what the locals call Shamleyside, this squat pile of granite was one of the first structures put together by the dwarven workers who came to Sheercleft early on when the mine was established. Today it stands tall above the rest of the settlement, with an additional story fashioned in wood atop the original stones.
Ringrut himself is in every way exactly what one would expect of a dwarven barkeep. Surly, stoic and reliable, he runs a tight, but fair ship and treats all his customers equally... assuming they have coin. The atmosphere inside is subdued, but warm. Most are huddled in small friendship groups, talking in quiet murmers about the days been and those soon to come. Sheercleft has suffered a number of setbacks of late due to accidents in the mines, one of which resulted in a death. This is a treacherous place at the best of times, but when the accidents come at a cost to the mine it becomes the Governor's problem, which never ends well for anybody.
Such a peaceful town; even while being battered by the elements, it was still idyllic to Vark. He had been watching from afar for the last couple days, trying to get a read on the villagers. Not every small mountain town was welcoming of strangers, let alone half-orcs, as he had learned the hard way during this trek. But his hunger was starting to overcome his caution. There was really only one way to find out. Pulling up his fur lined hood, the half-orc darts across the center of the snowy town. Was he moving too fast? Did he look suspicious? These thoughts only made him run faster, until he burst through the door, much less subtlely than he had intended. Instinctually he crouches a bit, knowing his stature would make him even more of a sore thumb. Keeping his hood low, Vark moves towards the bar, taking a seat far from any other patrons. He’ll wait until the bartender notices him, even if that takes 30 minutes.
Hurrig enters the tavern covered in soot from the mine. He stands around 4’ 5” and has quite a strong build. Hurrig removes a rag from his pocket to wipe the spot from his face to reveal roses cheeks but still grey and dirty from hours of sweat and grime accumulated in the mine. He hops up to the the bar and orders an ale. “Aye!! Erik ya dumb piece of shite, you done got yaself fired.” Hurrig yells over to his bunk mate sitting at a table near the bar, Erik is already to drunk to understand and is slurring his words. Hurrig turns back and looks at Ringrut, “Sad what happened to that poor sod in tha mine this week. Baltair was a hard worker.”Hurrig raises his glass and takes a long pull on the ale.
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Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
“This lad must be freezing his tusks off! That’s what’s wrong with him.” Get him one of your special warmed meads on me.” in his rush, the half Orc didn’t see the gnome sitting on the stool next to him. This slender gnome with slicked back hair, wearing some nice but faded clothing. He is sitting with a mug himself and a bowl of stew. “Names Archibald Swiftstep.. most people call me Archie.”
Sylelor found himself inside Ringrut’s tavern for the first time in quite a while. A mysterious figure had wandered his way into Sheercleft and Syl was paid to keep the village safe. Although it wasn’t officially in his job description to stalk strangers, Syl felt that it made his job easier if he kept a close eye on strangers until he saw what there intentions were.
The half-elf scanned the tavern briefly and located hooded figure that had just recently ran into the building. The figure was sitting at a table surprisingly considering their interesting entrance. Syl sat down at a table towards the door and moved his chair to facing the figure.
Ringrut nods back at Hurrig quietly and pours Vark the mead that Archie had ordered for him.
"Dark times," he grumbles and spits on the floor. "Abbathor take us. Quinton's on th'war path again, 'eads will roll..."
The tavern door opens once more with a thud to reveal a party of dwarves wrapped up in thick travelling gear. As they move forwards and begin to unwrap themselves the front-most dwarf is revealed to be Grothir, a known caravan leader from a nearby dwarven hold that regularly trades with Sheercleft. He looks around, greeting a few familiar faces here and there before he reaches the bar.
"A room, please Ringrut, for th'night."
Those who know Grothir can tell that he is uncharacteristically serious and dour, sad even.
“Oh! T-thank you... Archie.” Vark accepts the mead sheepishly and sips it. He keeps his hood up, but anyone close can see a branching scar across his face, and bright silver eyes darting about. “My name is Vark.” The half-orc’s head turns in the direction of the newcomers, who he watches curiously.
The door swings open one more, this time with a heavy bang as a large, hooded figure bends way down to squeeze their broad, bare shoulders through the doorway. As they do so, the black handle of a massive hammer is clearly visible over their shoulder. Once inside, they gingerly close the door once more and pull back the hood of their fur-lined vest, also dyed black to reveal a female goliath of grey skin and thick, black hair with opalescent eyes. "Terribly sorry about the door. The wind caught it before I could." She takes a moment to let her eyes adjust to the light and begins to move towards the nearby bar, appearing to take great pains not to bump into anyone with her stooped, towering form...
After a few minutes of observing the hooded stranger, Syl was starting to think that they might just be passing through the town. Right before the half-elf was getting ready to depart, the leader of on one of the more common caravans. Syl had frequently watched his caravan enter the village. He nodded to the man but did not say anything. After his pseudo friendly interaction with the dwarfs, Syl started started walking the couple of steps to the door when it barged open. Another stranger, Syl thought, better stay a while. Syl then proceeded to sit back down.
Bründir raised a glass at Hurrig's toast, "Tis a sad thing, livin' this hard life. Remember, lad, that hard lives make strong souls an' close friends. Baltair'll ne'er be forgotten."
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
“So Vark, what brings you to the frigid, dreary excuse of a town, eh?!” Archie goes to slap Vark on the shoulder.. but his arms a little to short and whiffs.
He uses this chance to spin around in the seat and scan the room for all the new comers in the inn.
Vark still seems a bit startled that the gnome is engaging him. “ Well I uh... I’ve just been traveling. I’m a... traveler, yeah and I just kinda stumbled across this town I guess. I wouldn’t call it dreary though, I think it’s quite... pastoral.” he says, pausing to think of the right descriptor. He hesitates a moment before returning the question “What about yourself?”
Grothir and his companions stare across the taverns at Valaith as she enters with a wariness that verges on hostility. He looks at Ringrut as though he as about to say something, but when the old dwarf hears Barlow and Hurrig raise a glass to Baltair he leaves the matter out of respect for the dead.
"Aye, we'll all take a drink to 'is memory," Grothir adds, pulling up a stool besides his two kinsmen. The other dwarves converge on a nearby table muttering to themselves in low voices about the welcoming of giants and elves.
"Might be the last in a long time, I'm afraid," the trader adds.
Waiting for the scilence and the sighs to be over Archie states “Well I got some business I had to attend to... just a couple loose ends from a long time ago.”
Bründir takes his drink and settles with Grothir and the others, "What d'ye mean, 'last in a long time'? Did something 'appen?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Aye," Grothir confirms solemnly and with great reluctance. "Govn'r says th'elves'r willin' t'pay more for 'is ore th'n we are. There'll be no more for Khaz a Grungron."
Valaith notices the openly hostile stares as she cross over to the innkeeper, listening to the talk of a recent death. Once over by Ringrut she kneels down to be a little closer to his height and hopes it doesn’t come off as patronizing before speaking to him in dwarven. “Wellmet, I am new in town and looking for a place to hang my hammer for a bit while I look for work. Do you have any accommodations available? And did I hear correctly that you all lost one of your own just recently?”
Valaith watches the dwarf carefully for a moment, keeping one hand close to the axe on her belt. "I do, if you have a room and hot food. Also, how much for a mug of ale?"
An icy wind howls amongst the craggy heights of the Ice Cap Peaks, carrying with it thunder and fresh snow from the southern reaches. Storms are common in Sheercleft at this time of year and most windows are boarded up or shuttered closed. The lion's share of the village is made up of rickety wooden buildings and the broad basin in which the little mining settlement has grown resounds with rattles and creaks as the weather batters them about.
Now especially, many seek refuge in the few contructions boasting stone to hold back the fierce winds. Of these, the most popular and accessible is naturally Ringrut's tavern. Located at the heart of what the locals call Shamleyside, this squat pile of granite was one of the first structures put together by the dwarven workers who came to Sheercleft early on when the mine was established. Today it stands tall above the rest of the settlement, with an additional story fashioned in wood atop the original stones.
Ringrut himself is in every way exactly what one would expect of a dwarven barkeep. Surly, stoic and reliable, he runs a tight, but fair ship and treats all his customers equally... assuming they have coin. The atmosphere inside is subdued, but warm. Most are huddled in small friendship groups, talking in quiet murmers about the days been and those soon to come. Sheercleft has suffered a number of setbacks of late due to accidents in the mines, one of which resulted in a death. This is a treacherous place at the best of times, but when the accidents come at a cost to the mine it becomes the Governor's problem, which never ends well for anybody.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Such a peaceful town; even while being battered by the elements, it was still idyllic to Vark. He had been watching from afar for the last couple days, trying to get a read on the villagers. Not every small mountain town was welcoming of strangers, let alone half-orcs, as he had learned the hard way during this trek. But his hunger was starting to overcome his caution. There was really only one way to find out. Pulling up his fur lined hood, the half-orc darts across the center of the snowy town. Was he moving too fast? Did he look suspicious? These thoughts only made him run faster, until he burst through the door, much less subtlely than he had intended. Instinctually he crouches a bit, knowing his stature would make him even more of a sore thumb. Keeping his hood low, Vark moves towards the bar, taking a seat far from any other patrons. He’ll wait until the bartender notices him, even if that takes 30 minutes.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Ringrut glances up from the mug he's cleaning towards the newcomer, raising a bushy eyebrow at his conspicuous behaviour.
"Y'alright there lad?" He grunts in a gruff drawl.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Hurrig enters the tavern covered in soot from the mine. He stands around 4’ 5” and has quite a strong build. Hurrig removes a rag from his pocket to wipe the spot from his face to reveal roses cheeks but still grey and dirty from hours of sweat and grime accumulated in the mine. He hops up to the the bar and orders an ale. “Aye!! Erik ya dumb piece of shite, you done got yaself fired.” Hurrig yells over to his bunk mate sitting at a table near the bar, Erik is already to drunk to understand and is slurring his words. Hurrig turns back and looks at Ringrut, “Sad what happened to that poor sod in tha mine this week. Baltair was a hard worker.” Hurrig raises his glass and takes a long pull on the ale.
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
Iznik Sylnithas - Half Drow Blood Hunter Level 2 Precipice of Voids
“This lad must be freezing his tusks off! That’s what’s wrong with him.” Get him one of your special warmed meads on me.” in his rush, the half Orc didn’t see the gnome sitting on the stool next to him. This slender gnome with slicked back hair, wearing some nice but faded clothing. He is sitting with a mug himself and a bowl of stew. “Names Archibald Swiftstep.. most people call me Archie.”
Sylelor found himself inside Ringrut’s tavern for the first time in quite a while. A mysterious figure had wandered his way into Sheercleft and Syl was paid to keep the village safe. Although it wasn’t officially in his job description to stalk strangers, Syl felt that it made his job easier if he kept a close eye on strangers until he saw what there intentions were.
The half-elf scanned the tavern briefly and located hooded figure that had just recently ran into the building. The figure was sitting at a table surprisingly considering their interesting entrance. Syl sat down at a table towards the door and moved his chair to facing the figure.
Ringrut nods back at Hurrig quietly and pours Vark the mead that Archie had ordered for him.
"Dark times," he grumbles and spits on the floor. "Abbathor take us. Quinton's on th'war path again, 'eads will roll..."
The tavern door opens once more with a thud to reveal a party of dwarves wrapped up in thick travelling gear. As they move forwards and begin to unwrap themselves the front-most dwarf is revealed to be Grothir, a known caravan leader from a nearby dwarven hold that regularly trades with Sheercleft. He looks around, greeting a few familiar faces here and there before he reaches the bar.
"A room, please Ringrut, for th'night."
Those who know Grothir can tell that he is uncharacteristically serious and dour, sad even.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
“Oh! T-thank you... Archie.” Vark accepts the mead sheepishly and sips it. He keeps his hood up, but anyone close can see a branching scar across his face, and bright silver eyes darting about. “My name is Vark.” The half-orc’s head turns in the direction of the newcomers, who he watches curiously.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
The door swings open one more, this time with a heavy bang as a large, hooded figure bends way down to squeeze their broad, bare shoulders through the doorway. As they do so, the black handle of a massive hammer is clearly visible over their shoulder. Once inside, they gingerly close the door once more and pull back the hood of their fur-lined vest, also dyed black to reveal a female goliath of grey skin and thick, black hair with opalescent eyes. "Terribly sorry about the door. The wind caught it before I could." She takes a moment to let her eyes adjust to the light and begins to move towards the nearby bar, appearing to take great pains not to bump into anyone with her stooped, towering form...
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
After a few minutes of observing the hooded stranger, Syl was starting to think that they might just be passing through the town. Right before the half-elf was getting ready to depart, the leader of on one of the more common caravans. Syl had frequently watched his caravan enter the village. He nodded to the man but did not say anything. After his pseudo friendly interaction with the dwarfs, Syl started started walking the couple of steps to the door when it barged open. Another stranger, Syl thought, better stay a while. Syl then proceeded to sit back down.
Bründir raised a glass at Hurrig's toast, "Tis a sad thing, livin' this hard life. Remember, lad, that hard lives make strong souls an' close friends. Baltair'll ne'er be forgotten."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
“So Vark, what brings you to the frigid, dreary excuse of a town, eh?!” Archie goes to slap Vark on the shoulder.. but his arms a little to short and whiffs.
He uses this chance to spin around in the seat and scan the room for all the new comers in the inn.
Vark still seems a bit startled that the gnome is engaging him. “ Well I uh... I’ve just been traveling. I’m a... traveler, yeah and I just kinda stumbled across this town I guess. I wouldn’t call it dreary though, I think it’s quite... pastoral.” he says, pausing to think of the right descriptor. He hesitates a moment before returning the question “What about yourself?”
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Grothir and his companions stare across the taverns at Valaith as she enters with a wariness that verges on hostility. He looks at Ringrut as though he as about to say something, but when the old dwarf hears Barlow and Hurrig raise a glass to Baltair he leaves the matter out of respect for the dead.
"Aye, we'll all take a drink to 'is memory," Grothir adds, pulling up a stool besides his two kinsmen. The other dwarves converge on a nearby table muttering to themselves in low voices about the welcoming of giants and elves.
"Might be the last in a long time, I'm afraid," the trader adds.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Waiting for the scilence and the sighs to be over Archie states “Well I got some business I had to attend to... just a couple loose ends from a long time ago.”
Bründir takes his drink and settles with Grothir and the others, "What d'ye mean, 'last in a long time'? Did something 'appen?"
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Aye," Grothir confirms solemnly and with great reluctance. "Govn'r says th'elves'r willin' t'pay more for 'is ore th'n we are. There'll be no more for Khaz a Grungron."
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Valaith notices the openly hostile stares as she cross over to the innkeeper, listening to the talk of a recent death. Once over by Ringrut she kneels down to be a little closer to his height and hopes it doesn’t come off as patronizing before speaking to him in dwarven. “Wellmet, I am new in town and looking for a place to hang my hammer for a bit while I look for work. Do you have any accommodations available? And did I hear correctly that you all lost one of your own just recently?”
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Ringrut looks Valaith up and down with a suspicious eye.
"Aye, wasn'th'first time an'it won'be th'last."
He hesitates.
"Y'got coin, lass?"
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Valaith watches the dwarf carefully for a moment, keeping one hand close to the axe on her belt. "I do, if you have a room and hot food. Also, how much for a mug of ale?"
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden