Before I let Darla leave, I do have a few questions. Does she know what is attacking? When the attacks are happening and who is Joseph? I move in closer to Darla. "As far as rooms go, I have no problem sharing with such a lovely creature as yourself," I say quietly. I give Darla a wink from under the wide brim of my hat. "But a bed to myself is always welcome as well."
Darla gives you an appraising look that reminds you of a horse trader that you dealt with last year. You're not sure how you feel about that.
Make a Perception check
"Joseph was part of my crew, back in the day. Before I settled down a bit." She might be speaking with a bit of wistful nostalgia.
After Darla takes her leave, I make my way over to Durven. I lean over the bar resting on my forearm as I lean over. My other arm down to my side, I put my hand on the handle of my crossbow, but no intention of drawing down on the bartender. Just ready to make an attack if I am attacked. "Do you have a problem with me mate?" I says quietly. "Seems to me you need to ease up a bit before you start breaking things."
At this point, I am looking for the gold statuette I gave Durven in payment. I may try stealing it back.
Durven is cold. His glare doesn't leave his face. He doesn't ease up on handling the glass ware. He is consciously doing his best to keep himself under control. It looks like he counts to 10 before he answers . "Aye, I might. I don't know how things are where you come from, but around here it can be a bit of a problem if you try to bed another man's wife!" His shoulders tense as he reaches down again.
"Durven!! Stop acting like a child! You're going to chip those glasses." Darla snaps from the end of the bar. Durven, with slow movements, puts the glass ware down and puts both hands on the counter. Darla chuckles to herself and walks over to the other guests of the inn to check on their disposition.
Roll a perception check to see if you locate the statue behind the bar.
I reach out across the bar and put my hand on his shoulder. My other hand does not leave the crossbow handle. "Sorry about that mate. No disrespect. I just didn't know." Sen it genuine in his apology. I will sit back in my chair after the apology.
The tension drains a bit from Durven's frame. The glare goes away and he starts handling the glassware with a little more dignity and care. As he moves down the bar to make another request of the bard and fill another call for ale. You see a lock box on the bottom shelf underneath the bar.
"Acknowledged" mage indeed, Phyllis thought to herself, but couldn't feel too sour about it as she clamped down on a smile that threatened to creep on her face as she watched the exchange. It wasn't polite to laugh at a man defending his wife's honor, but nonetheless an amused bubble of giggles managed to escape her. She busied herself with dusting off her spotless robes to busy herself and to hide her face for a moment as she fixed back a mask of cool contempt upon her face once more.
"Right," she piped back up, gloved hands folding together in front of her, "I've not the pleasure of knowing your names, and I so would love to know them if we are to be in company with each other." The blonde wished with all her might that she didn't come off as rude, but she had noticed the pompous tone to her voice a tad too late.
Harivaldr's smile didn't falter, but he did have to work to keep from giving a small huff. Fey tunes. Humans always want fey tunes. Why do they always ask for fey tunes? Why not a recitation of the old epics, or a good Dwarvish drinking song? He thought. Do I look like a fairy? Nonetheless, his years on the road left him well prepared for this exact circumstance, so he mustered his good cheer and brightly said, "Of course! What kind of wandering poet would I be if I didn't know a song of the fey?" And with a short warm-up and energetic strum of his dulcimer, he was off. He chose an old comic song in Sylvan that he'd learned after a chance encounter with another bard on the road, who claimed he'd first heard it from a pair of dancing satyrs. While he didn't necessarily believe the bard's tale, or know the language personally for that matter, the song had been catchy enough that he'd taken the time and effort to memorize the tune and lyrics both, and he'd also asked the bard to write them down phonetically with a rough translation on a sheet of parchment he kept in his pack. Of course, anyone who actually knew Sylvan would very quickly realize that the happy-go-lucky tune clashed spectacularly with the lyrics, which detailed a jealous woman's bitterness at not being a man's wife, and her wishing misfortune upon his lover, but he usually kept that part to himself when performing it.
Though his tongue, so used to his native and harsh sounding Dwarvish, stumbled over the lilting Sylvan once or twice, his zeal and panache for storytelling more than made up for it (or so he hoped). (Performance = 28)
"'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise 'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise bean Pháidín 'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise 'S an bhean atá aige bheith caillte!"
Durven brings a tray of tankards over to Harivaldr after wild applause dies down a bit. "These are compliments of the table along the wall" A couple of half elves nod appreciatively and wink as if they were in on the joke. "you know drink orders picked up quite a bit, you know any good drinking songs?" He leans a little "Your for and drink are on the house tonight if you can manage a few."
Merric can't seem to help himself when the music starts playing and dances around with rather impressive grace and nimbleness.
"Hey...I'm Merric!" he says to Phyllis as he prances by, pausing just long enough to hold out his little hand in invitation to dance. "I understand elves to be almost as graceful as halflings! Try to keep up princess..." as he dances off between the tables.
When the song ends and applause starts, Merric takes an exaggerated bow to the patrons. "Thank you...no need. Thank you...." (Performance = 5)
OK. So his dancing had absolutely no style or performance value, but he truly enjoyed it! In a halfling village, everyone applauds for EVERY performance and getting in on the party is always part of the fun!)
"Tidings Merric, but I'm actually quite human," she says as she lowers her hood and points to her round, unassuming ears. But with a smile she takes his hand with gratitude, and had began a four beat dance.
She stopped as soon as it became apparent that the halfling had no lessons in proper dancing at all. If Phyllis could describe it, she'd call it an errating and frantic attack and lapse of sanity. It absolutely mortified her.
By the end, while she applauded the dwarf's beautiful music, she was standing awkwardly next to the halfling taking a bow. If Merric's goal was to get a full astounded and dumbfounded stare from the noblewoman, well he certainly achieved his goal.
"Thank you for the dance, Merric. That was...something."
Harivaldr raised his new tankard to the half-elves across the room and said to Durven,"Oh don't you worry, give me a moment to wet my whistle and I'll keep this place livelier than a busy little beehive!" Having seen Merric's wild prancing, the dwarf can't help but applaud the rambunctious halfling's dance. It was then that he noticed the rather... proud-looking human woman in the immaculate robes. She seemed a prickly sort, and had a look on her face like she'd rather be anywhere else. The skald cleared his throat and said, "Hrm,Phyllis,you said your name was? I'm sure we could make good use of your arcane talents on this job, I am Harivaldr Laurison, skald of the Dwarven Hall of Lauriklanni." It was then that he wracked his brain trying to remember all the little quirks of how the upper class interacted with each other. He'd given his name, his occupation, his clan... wasn't there something they did with their hands, kind of like a handshake? There was a lot one could tell just by a handshake, like whether or not someone wanted anything to do with you in the first place! With this in mind he once more offered up a calloused and worn (but clean, while he'd spent plenty of nights in various barns all across the countryside, he certainly wasn't raised in one) hand to shake. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!" He added.
Sen picks up a tankard from the tray. Sen looks over at the half-elves and grabs the brim of his hat, giving it a little lift in appreciation of the ale. Sen takes a large drink. After watching the halfling do his dance, Sen saunders up to Phyliss. "I'm Sen," he says while lifting up his wide-brimmed hat. Sen has a 5 o'clock shadows and a trimmed mustache, which is not common for half-elves. "Looks like we will be spending some time together in the rough here in the near future. Hope you can handle yourself." Sen looks over the up kept and clean robes of the wizard. Sen takes off the dusty leather jacket he was wearing and folds it over the back of the chair he was seated at. Sen has an off white shirt underneath with rolled up sleeves. "Care for a dance? This dwarven music reminds me of home."
Well, for better or worse, Dathyra had found herself among one of the most...entertaining groups, she would call it. True, when Holg and Jodon got enough drinks in them, they could cause a scene. This, however, had certainly been a series of ups and downs she had never seen before.
Between the introduction of two more coming along their mission, Sen almost having it out with the bartender, and Merric being...well, Merric she assumed, it was shaping up to be a group that she was going to have to work hard to keep up with.
She only briefly glanced at the two half-elves who had bought them the drinks, but nothing more. If there was one thing she had learned about the world outside her temple on her travels, it was that men had a habit of buying drinks as if they were kings when good music or a woman was involved. She wasn't going to even dare to encourage them any further. She only took a few small sips. She still wasn't much for the bitter taste, but at least she had gotten used to it enough.
She had to admit that Harivaldr was incredibly talented, even if she didn't understand the language of the song herself. Father Uridan had encouraged her to learn only practical languages, ones for those she might encounter when others were brought to their temple for healing. Still, Harivaldr was clearly enjoying himself, and so was everyone else. Dathyra had to admit it had been a long time since she had ever had this kind of fun.
She nearly coughed up her mouthful of drink when Merric had made that comment and then proceeded to show what dancing "skills" he had. Graceful as elves indeed, she thought. Instead, she chose to introduce herself to the only other female of the group. "I'm Dathyra," she said meekly, with only a nod of her head. But then she noticed Sen standing to offer the woman a dance. "We can always get better acquainted later." She instead chose to sit back beside Harivaldr.
Darla comes around occasionally through out the remainder of the evening. She seems pleased that the lively atmosphere has drawn customers into her tavern. Everyone likes a party. Even Durven cheers up a bit with the music and increased call for drinks.
Darla will give each of you a key to your room and let you know that they will leave in the morning. She recedes to the back rooms behind the bar. Durven continues to work the bar for the rest of the night.
Is anyone doing anything overnight?
(I will post later when Durven rings the bell for last call.)
Now this was her element; attention. She proudly shook the dwarf's hand and was indeed pleased to note the sturdiness of it, without careless brute strength that might have left her hand smarting afterwords. "The pleasure is all mine, Ser Laurison," she said with a genuine smile, " Especially after hearing you play. It was wonderful, but may I ask if you any known songs of the dragonkind?" It was a partial challenge, but also a genuine curiosity if he could strum up the authentic tunes from her home. Auldglow was far west and is a hybrid town mostly of humans and dragonborn.
Just as she was just about to ask if he knew the song "Oradorn" (A jaunty tune with one verse in common, the other in draconic about the the ancient champion of Auldglow, Oradorn, and his deeds) when the half-elf approached. "I would love a dance," she said with relief, hoping that Merric wouldn't take offense that she did not comment about his bizzare display. "Do you have a last name, Ser Sen?"
She took off her gloves and stuffed them in her pockets before taking his hand, allowing him the lead for the dance. Phyllis gave a pleased smile to Dathyra and a small curtsey. "I shall take you on that offer, Ser Dathyra."
Merric spends the remainder of the evening chatting with the others (when they are not out "slow" dancing), inquiring about family, childhood memories, and telling tales about past days in his village growing up.
He is up quick to dance (by himself usually as the slow "big" folk can't seem to keep up) and frolic lively when the music matches. Those with an observant eye may notice he keeps a close eye on the door though, as if looking for something.
He closes out the night with the last of the revellers in the tavern and bids everyone a good night.
Dathyra will stick around until people head to their rooms in case anyone has any other questions or requests of her. But, once she's up, she's got nothing of particular importance to do. She is an early riser, though (4 hours of trance does give one a lot more hours in the day), so if Durven needs help setting up before the journey, she'd likely be around to offer assistance.