“Well if you toss me, just make sure I’m going in the right direction... I’ll still get there quicker than these stubby legs.” As he hustles to keep up with Val.
once settled and waiting for the next day, Archie would comb through his grandfathers notes searching for any information on the area/ trail they will be taking. Beasts, points of interest, Flora, etc.
As the group disbands, Vark finds himself awkwardly meandering, having become quickly accustomed to the companionship of these strangers. He had never felt confident as a result of being part of a group before, but it was something he seemed to enjoy. So, he trails after Archie, the most gregarious of the group, and takes a seat near the gnome. He sits and watches curiously, like a puppy, as the gnome rifles through some sort of documents.
During his readings, Archie will pipe up without looking up from the book to Vark “You know people would believe you if you believe it yourself. You have to have some convictions or people will just walk all over you. While you’re here, I need a drink”
Archie finds an old map in his grandfather's notes that roughly outlines the area. It's rough, alpine territory inhabited by creatures typical of such a region.
Val will pony up for drinks for everyone that's at the inn, so just make sure you let me know how many drinks I'll need to account for cost.
Val's large figure squeezes into position near Vark and Archie, plunking several mugs of ale onto the table and pushing Vark back down into his seat. "This round is on me for bribing the guards earlier." She listens to what Archie says to Vark. "Vark, unless you offered to get him a drink you need to say 'Then go get one yourself.' There's nothing wrong with saying 'No'." She raises an eyebrow. "Right, Archie?" She lifts her mug to her lips and smiles behind it as she takes a deep drink.
"Oh, well.... I uh... owed him a drink from last night... But thank you, Valaith." the discomfort on his face fades as he takes a sip of the ale. Vark ponders for a moment before speaking up again. "I... I do have convictions. I guess I just... haven't needed to show them before. I just find being quiet and agreeable is... easy. And useful. Maybe I'd navigate differently if I were a hulking full blooded orc, or a towering goliath." quickly he adds "N-not that... not to say that I know what it's like... to be a goliath I mean. I honestly know nothing of your culture."
“If that’s what he felt was right. It’s not about yes or no, it’s about having an opinion and advocating for it clearly.” This is the first time Archie looks up from the books. “I knew I would find it somewhere” as he turns the book around revealing the map of the area. He reaches over the map to take a mug of ale. “Thanks, Val”
Valaith chuckles at Vark's unease. "No need to worry about offending, Vark. Even I find that politeness will get you further than being angry all the time. When I first came north, I was angry at... well everything. I fought with many people and that often found me being run out of towns. Anytime you wish to know about my people, I will gladly tell you of them." When Archibold speaks up Valaith steps and spends a few moments thinking about the words he spoke. She rubs her forehead and takes another drink. "That is very smart Archie, I never thought about it that way... You would have liked my brother." She smiles wistfully at the memory before turning her attention to the map.
After the meeting with Anders, Bründir begins to break off from the others before turning back, "Ye may wan'te see th' smith an' arm'ry; least tha's where I'm goin'. Ne'er had a use fer things t'kill a man, lest it's fer defense. Not sayin' I've ne'er had t'fight, just ne'er had to fight a band at once."
As he crossed the town to the barracks, Bründir stopped at his home and swept up the few belongings he owned for the road: a large rucksack, a worn dagger, a bedroll, some rope, the money he saved in a box under the floorboards, and an aged, cloth-wrapped sword, "Say ye've seen wars, they do. Hope ye give me some o'that know-how in days t'come."
Pacing the wind-blown streets, Bründir finally reaches the barracks. In the courtyard, a modest force of men-at-arms drill basic combat maneuvers. A pounding of metal on metal directs the swarf within to the armoury where a smith works away in an adjacent forge. The quartermaster sits at a desk in front of a heavy metal-braced door. Between the two, haggling is exchanged, but it falls in favor of the quartermaster. With a sizeable chunk of his savings, Bründir receives a sturdy axe, a pair of hatchets, a quiver of javelins, and a new suit of armor. Everything seems to have a natural feel to it as the dwarf makes his way back through town and into the tavern where this whole endeavour started.
Seated together are his unlikely companions. Bründir joins them with a stiff drink as images of the drilling soldiers flash through his mind. He paced the drills with his mind, imagining the feel of his limbs moving in such regulated manners. The movements seemed painfully rigid, yet the dwarf could feel an odd familiarity.
Heartbeats passed like minutes as images flashed of a dwarf clad in broken mail standing on broken stones. His shield had been cleaved by some great force and his sword was battered from countless foes. Despite this, he called to someone behind him, a command to resist and push forward. More than anything, his eyes were the most terrifying. They were dead of emotion, completely consumed my rage and a will to survive, to overcome at any cost.
Bründir realized that below the din of the bar and the table conversation, he was humming a somber, dirge-like tune. Catching himself before it grew louder, he waited for a break in the various conversations and raised his glass, "Best wishes to us that march for the good of all. Half given is twice returned."
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
The misty grey of predawn light lies thick over Sheercleft when the group rise the next day. Anders had said first light and he had meant it. The first slivers are just breaking over the mountain-tops as they gather at Sheercleft's western gate, bathing the trio of wagons in gentle gold. However, their cargo is much more mundane. A foreman from the mines marches up and down the line, ensuring the loads are secure - rough hewn iron ore for the most part. The elves have their own ways of forging it that they do not share. Aside from the drivers manning each of the mule-drawn covered wagons, the six companions are all that is there to protect the precious goods.
Anders is also present to ensure that everything is in order before the convoy leaves. He stands atop the palisade besides the gate, looking down on everything with a critical eye.
Archibald is walking behind Anders performing his own set of inspections... seemingly echoing what Anders is doing. All the while talking a mile a minute about variables, weather, materials, supplies, men etc. but not really talking about anything at all.
Anders seems to have come to the conclusion that the best way to deal with Archie's antics to simply pretend the gnome isn't there and stoically ignores his presence.
Once Anders is standing still, Archie will lean up against probably his mid thigh and say “Well it looks like we are ready to mosey on our of here” before he goes to get settled on the cart
Valaith enjoys one last meal of hot food before she meanders out to join the others near the staging ground. The crisp morning air is refreshing to her and while it was nice to have a comfortable bed and hot food, part of her relishes the idea to get outside of the city walls and closer to the world around. She looks at her companions and watches Archibold's antics with a heavy sigh, but smiles at the sight of the gnome antagonizing the man. She takes a moment to ensure all her gear is accounted; her two axes are resting at either hip in her belt, her backpack is cinched tightly and securely, her quiver of javelins fastened, and lastly her hammer which she sits upon the ground, head down with a heavy *thump*. "Times wasting. Let's get going."
Bründir returned in the late afternoon after a meal and drinks with the others. In his quiet little home, his equipment seemed alien among the austere furnishings. Sighing away his reservations, Bründir donned the coat of mail. It was a padded gambeson overlaid with chain, and covered on top by a layer of small plates that resembled a snake's skin; heavy, but not cumbersome.
Out back, a small stump sat in disuse yeare after the original tree was felled. First, it was used for practice with the javelins. It was a simple weapon, so long as Bründir could keep the tip on target. Next were the hatchets. They were passable at range, but limited quantity made them more valuable as tools. Finally came the hefty axe and heirloom sword. The dwarf didn't feel confident leaving a hand exposed, so he traded the two between his hands until he found a match that fit: the axe in the right and the sword in the left. Hacking at the stump, it was clear that the axe could cleave an opponent, but it wasn't as robust on defense as the sword.
Satisfied with his experimenting, Bründir took everything back inside. He settled onto his bed with a bottle from the tavern and laid out his kit. With a stone and some oil, he honed and polished the various blades until he was satisfied with the work. The next morning, he donned the mail armor again, strapped his weapons around his waist and pack, and set off.
The others were already assembled, and Bründir found his way to the first cart. Good thing Archibold kept Anders distracted enough to let the dwarf slip in unoticed.
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
Once everyone is assembled the caravan sets off on its way west. If all goes to plan it will take two days for the wagons to clear the snowiest heights of the mountains and a third before they emerge from the mountains proper into the foothills along the edge of Eldren forest. The first couple of hours pass without incident, although the air is frigid cold. Fortunately, everybody is equipped with thick coats and gloves for the journey. The rocky slopes to the left and right are extremely steep and it seems that at least parts of this pass must have been widened by hewing away at the mountainside to make it broad enough for vehicles to pass.
Eventually the caravan arrives at a fork in the road, marked by a tall, black runestone carved with dwarven script. One path leads the north, the other west.
“Well if you toss me, just make sure I’m going in the right direction... I’ll still get there quicker than these stubby legs.” As he hustles to keep up with Val.
once settled and waiting for the next day, Archie would comb through his grandfathers notes searching for any information on the area/ trail they will be taking. Beasts, points of interest, Flora, etc.
redacted- double post
As the group disbands, Vark finds himself awkwardly meandering, having become quickly accustomed to the companionship of these strangers. He had never felt confident as a result of being part of a group before, but it was something he seemed to enjoy. So, he trails after Archie, the most gregarious of the group, and takes a seat near the gnome. He sits and watches curiously, like a puppy, as the gnome rifles through some sort of documents.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
During his readings, Archie will pipe up without looking up from the book to Vark “You know people would believe you if you believe it yourself. You have to have some convictions or people will just walk all over you. While you’re here, I need a drink”
“Oh, uh... I uhm... ah... uhmm s-sure... what would you like?” Vark stutters out, not sure how to process Archie’s advice.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Archie finds an old map in his grandfather's notes that roughly outlines the area. It's rough, alpine territory inhabited by creatures typical of such a region.
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
Val will pony up for drinks for everyone that's at the inn, so just make sure you let me know how many drinks I'll need to account for cost.
Val's large figure squeezes into position near Vark and Archie, plunking several mugs of ale onto the table and pushing Vark back down into his seat. "This round is on me for bribing the guards earlier." She listens to what Archie says to Vark. "Vark, unless you offered to get him a drink you need to say 'Then go get one yourself.' There's nothing wrong with saying 'No'." She raises an eyebrow. "Right, Archie?" She lifts her mug to her lips and smiles behind it as she takes a deep drink.
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
"Oh, well.... I uh... owed him a drink from last night... But thank you, Valaith." the discomfort on his face fades as he takes a sip of the ale. Vark ponders for a moment before speaking up again. "I... I do have convictions. I guess I just... haven't needed to show them before. I just find being quiet and agreeable is... easy. And useful. Maybe I'd navigate differently if I were a hulking full blooded orc, or a towering goliath." quickly he adds "N-not that... not to say that I know what it's like... to be a goliath I mean. I honestly know nothing of your culture."
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
“If that’s what he felt was right. It’s not about yes or no, it’s about having an opinion and advocating for it clearly.” This is the first time Archie looks up from the books. “I knew I would find it somewhere” as he turns the book around revealing the map of the area. He reaches over the map to take a mug of ale. “Thanks, Val”
Valaith chuckles at Vark's unease. "No need to worry about offending, Vark. Even I find that politeness will get you further than being angry all the time. When I first came north, I was angry at... well everything. I fought with many people and that often found me being run out of towns. Anytime you wish to know about my people, I will gladly tell you of them." When Archibold speaks up Valaith steps and spends a few moments thinking about the words he spoke. She rubs her forehead and takes another drink. "That is very smart Archie, I never thought about it that way... You would have liked my brother." She smiles wistfully at the memory before turning her attention to the map.
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Vark smiles and nodd at Val’s kind and reassuring words. As Archie produces the map Vark’s eyes light up, and he begins studying it intently.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
After the meeting with Anders, Bründir begins to break off from the others before turning back, "Ye may wan'te see th' smith an' arm'ry; least tha's where I'm goin'. Ne'er had a use fer things t'kill a man, lest it's fer defense. Not sayin' I've ne'er had t'fight, just ne'er had to fight a band at once."
As he crossed the town to the barracks, Bründir stopped at his home and swept up the few belongings he owned for the road: a large rucksack, a worn dagger, a bedroll, some rope, the money he saved in a box under the floorboards, and an aged, cloth-wrapped sword, "Say ye've seen wars, they do. Hope ye give me some o'that know-how in days t'come."
Pacing the wind-blown streets, Bründir finally reaches the barracks. In the courtyard, a modest force of men-at-arms drill basic combat maneuvers. A pounding of metal on metal directs the swarf within to the armoury where a smith works away in an adjacent forge. The quartermaster sits at a desk in front of a heavy metal-braced door. Between the two, haggling is exchanged, but it falls in favor of the quartermaster. With a sizeable chunk of his savings, Bründir receives a sturdy axe, a pair of hatchets, a quiver of javelins, and a new suit of armor. Everything seems to have a natural feel to it as the dwarf makes his way back through town and into the tavern where this whole endeavour started.
Seated together are his unlikely companions. Bründir joins them with a stiff drink as images of the drilling soldiers flash through his mind. He paced the drills with his mind, imagining the feel of his limbs moving in such regulated manners. The movements seemed painfully rigid, yet the dwarf could feel an odd familiarity.
Heartbeats passed like minutes as images flashed of a dwarf clad in broken mail standing on broken stones. His shield had been cleaved by some great force and his sword was battered from countless foes. Despite this, he called to someone behind him, a command to resist and push forward. More than anything, his eyes were the most terrifying. They were dead of emotion, completely consumed my rage and a will to survive, to overcome at any cost.
Bründir realized that below the din of the bar and the table conversation, he was humming a somber, dirge-like tune. Catching himself before it grew louder, he waited for a break in the various conversations and raised his glass, "Best wishes to us that march for the good of all. Half given is twice returned."
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
The misty grey of predawn light lies thick over Sheercleft when the group rise the next day. Anders had said first light and he had meant it. The first slivers are just breaking over the mountain-tops as they gather at Sheercleft's western gate, bathing the trio of wagons in gentle gold. However, their cargo is much more mundane. A foreman from the mines marches up and down the line, ensuring the loads are secure - rough hewn iron ore for the most part. The elves have their own ways of forging it that they do not share. Aside from the drivers manning each of the mule-drawn covered wagons, the six companions are all that is there to protect the precious goods.
Anders is also present to ensure that everything is in order before the convoy leaves. He stands atop the palisade besides the gate, looking down on everything with a critical eye.
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
Archibald is walking behind Anders performing his own set of inspections... seemingly echoing what Anders is doing. All the while talking a mile a minute about variables, weather, materials, supplies, men etc. but not really talking about anything at all.
Vark stands quietly near the second wagon, gently petting the mule. he looks excited, eager to begin this new journey.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Anders seems to have come to the conclusion that the best way to deal with Archie's antics to simply pretend the gnome isn't there and stoically ignores his presence.
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
Once Anders is standing still, Archie will lean up against probably his mid thigh and say “Well it looks like we are ready to mosey on our of here” before he goes to get settled on the cart
Valaith enjoys one last meal of hot food before she meanders out to join the others near the staging ground. The crisp morning air is refreshing to her and while it was nice to have a comfortable bed and hot food, part of her relishes the idea to get outside of the city walls and closer to the world around. She looks at her companions and watches Archibold's antics with a heavy sigh, but smiles at the sight of the gnome antagonizing the man. She takes a moment to ensure all her gear is accounted; her two axes are resting at either hip in her belt, her backpack is cinched tightly and securely, her quiver of javelins fastened, and lastly her hammer which she sits upon the ground, head down with a heavy *thump*. "Times wasting. Let's get going."
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Bründir returned in the late afternoon after a meal and drinks with the others. In his quiet little home, his equipment seemed alien among the austere furnishings. Sighing away his reservations, Bründir donned the coat of mail. It was a padded gambeson overlaid with chain, and covered on top by a layer of small plates that resembled a snake's skin; heavy, but not cumbersome.
Out back, a small stump sat in disuse yeare after the original tree was felled. First, it was used for practice with the javelins. It was a simple weapon, so long as Bründir could keep the tip on target. Next were the hatchets. They were passable at range, but limited quantity made them more valuable as tools. Finally came the hefty axe and heirloom sword. The dwarf didn't feel confident leaving a hand exposed, so he traded the two between his hands until he found a match that fit: the axe in the right and the sword in the left. Hacking at the stump, it was clear that the axe could cleave an opponent, but it wasn't as robust on defense as the sword.
Satisfied with his experimenting, Bründir took everything back inside. He settled onto his bed with a bottle from the tavern and laid out his kit. With a stone and some oil, he honed and polished the various blades until he was satisfied with the work. The next morning, he donned the mail armor again, strapped his weapons around his waist and pack, and set off.
The others were already assembled, and Bründir found his way to the first cart. Good thing Archibold kept Anders distracted enough to let the dwarf slip in unoticed.
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
Once everyone is assembled the caravan sets off on its way west. If all goes to plan it will take two days for the wagons to clear the snowiest heights of the mountains and a third before they emerge from the mountains proper into the foothills along the edge of Eldren forest. The first couple of hours pass without incident, although the air is frigid cold. Fortunately, everybody is equipped with thick coats and gloves for the journey. The rocky slopes to the left and right are extremely steep and it seems that at least parts of this pass must have been widened by hewing away at the mountainside to make it broad enough for vehicles to pass.
Eventually the caravan arrives at a fork in the road, marked by a tall, black runestone carved with dwarven script. One path leads the north, the other west.
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