Nemeia lets out an audible, 'oh!', when she's taken by the arm and she looks back at her companion with a hint of concern. Hoping that she was following in pursuit.
"I guess we're both experiencing a lot of new places these past few days then. Gearglow? To most that visit, they'd probably think it's a small town. There's a lot to it though if you spend the time settling in. There are workshops everywhere! If it can be crafted, it can be made in Gearglow! At least that's what father always says. Everyone is really friendly too especially if you're in the trade. That's what brings so many people to the town. It's a hub of master tradespeople and their apprentices working on anything you can imagine.
And you're right, I'm a tiefling. Have been all my life," she chuckles at her own joke. "You like my horns? Can't say I've gotten that compliment before." Nemia's horns are just slightly darker red than her skin but not nearly as dark as her hair. Looking at her horns, you notice they're adorned with pieces of jewelry that dangle as she walks. Looking closely, you'd notice that the pieces look like tiny gears encasing a green gem. "I really haven't seen too many others like me beyond my family back home. They moved there so father could practice his craft. They never really talked about where they came from before that."
Nemeia thinks back to the name of the mansion and quickly checks her belongings making sure that nothing had gone missing during their stay or brunch. She's almost frantic as the idea that someone may have absconded one of her toolsets or even worse her creations.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
9 chuckles as Nemeia and Moira go out of the mansion. She looks down upon the halfling and pats his shoulder, “Well, they are going to cause some trouble, won’t they?”. She then follows them without any rush, still taking in the laziness of the morning, and looking around the tavern for any people who were possibly eavesdropping on their whole conversation with sharp eyes, amd says a short prayer. Witt would be able to notice barely visible rustle of raven feathers on her neck along side with a short breeze of chilly air. Once out of the tavern, 9 adjusts her equipment and glances at the sky for couple of minutes. Then she follows Nemeia and Moira to keep them in her eyesight.
9 looks about the Inn but doesn't notice anything of interest. There are a couple of travelers who are staying at the inn milling about the main floor, but not that many. If any of them heard your conversation, none are showing any interest.
"Well I think they are just fantastic. And the jewelry you have on them is quite unique. I craft some myself. I was learning leather work from my father. He made my armor. I've not done anything this complex yet but I can do quite a bit.'" And continue chatting as I head north with my new friend looking for the bridge, then the docks, then "The Lure" across from some boats.
Still back at the inn, Witt replies to Nemeia's questions: Oh, I've done my fair share on the farm, I suppose, but I always wanted to serve Oryn, and now I do. But my family, well, that's a different story. Farmers for as far back as anyone knows. And all from villages near Wheatrest. I think I might have travelled farther than the last four generations combined. He laughs, in a good mood as he always is when he thinks or talks about his family.
Oh, well, we sell to an official merchant in Tarrin Castle. I think they keep some of the food for the castle and the rest goes across the kingdom. Some here, I suppose, since I don't think much grows in the swamp round these parts. I don't remember the name of the official - in fact, it might have been two different people last year and the year before. It's Gerald really who looks after that side of the business. The past two years I was too nervous and wide eyed to get involved much; I promised Father I would pay more attention this year. Actually, I should just quickly go and check on the caravan. Please do excuse me. You're headed to the Waning Lure, isn't that right? I'll catch up later, and we can talk about Moira's mine.
With that, he darts out of the inn and goes in search of Gerald.
Nemeia smiles as Witt tells her about the farm and his adventures. When he talks about the contact, Nemeia begins wondering if it will be the same person that would greet the caravan or if the Queen would have brought in all new staff to fulfill the positions of the kingdom. She nods at him as he excuses himself. "I believe so, she shouts after him. See you there."
As Moira pulls her along, Nemeia just can't believe she's met someone with such similar interests as herself. It had been a while since she met someone with such interests and she can even craft things? Nemeia herself had spent some time working with leather and metals. She had planned to work on more advanced techniques once she found someone that had the time and patience to teach her. "Are we best friends," she blurts out the thought before she could bring it back. She turns her head shyly at the outburst. "I've worked as an apprentice in my father's shop dealing with fabrics, metals, locks, jewelry, and little devices. He even showed me around boiling leather when he could. I had plans to train with some of the gnomes back home to learn more about making armors but I had to hold off on that while I further developed my arcane talents." Nemeia almost seems saddened that she couldn't learn everything from home. "Father told me I needed to perfect one thing before I moved on to the next." She pauses a moment. "I'm not a very good listener."
Nemeia had noticed Moira's armor when she walked into the inn. It had a unique styling that she thought was rather pleasant.
It's easy enough to find Gerald, he's back with the rest of the caravan in the nearby stables, going over the inventory to ensure that nothing was lost in the hectic travels so far. The burly hill dwarf walks around with a dark rust colored beard hanging free and unbraided all the way down to his boots, yet he somehow manages to never get it caught in anything.
Upon seeing Witt he quickly calls out to him, "Oy lad, what are ye doing here? I thought ye were goin' off ta adventure or whatnot with yer new friend there?"
Oh, well,says Witt, I just wanted to check everything was okay, Gerald. Is everything okay? Is there anything I should help with? You know I've been trying to get a bit more involved with the caravan this year, not just leave everything to you. I am here to help, after all. But if you don't need me, I can go do something else...
Gerald blinks slowly as he considers Witt's words, taking a moment to process them all, "No ... no I think we got everything covered. We'll be heading to the inn fer lunch, an' tha's it till mornin'. If ye got somewhere else ta go, then go. I reckon the rest of the night'll be blessedly borin'."
A wide grin splits Moira's face "Yes, absolutely! Best friends." As her new Best Friend continues talking about her father telling her what to do she kind of rolls her eyes. "Ughh. My dad wanted me to.." She pitches her voice lower and takes on a stern demeanor in an obvious impersonation of her father. "'Get my head out of the clouds. Settle down and start a family.' That is just not for me. Who can worry about things like that when there are adventures to be had and destiny calling?!?"
Boring is good sometimes,says Witt, grinning. But not every time. See you later, Gerald; I'll be at the Waning Lure most likely, if you need me. Don't worry - Moira will be there to make sure I don't get into trouble.
With his caravan-care duties done, he relaxes and zips off down the street in pursuit of the other three.
9 walks 20 or so feet behind Moira and Nemeia, just keeping an eye on them, and looking around in town to see if she notices anything interesting. She observes the seldom fisherman, coming back with a new load, and marvels at how interesting his expression was. He just caught some fish and he was succeful, yet there wasn’t much happiness in his face. That is to say he wasn’t sad either. Some of these people just... exist. I used to be like that. I wonder if it would change them too. 9 thought looking around once more in search of a street food merchant.
Witt moves quickly up through town, eventually catching up to the other three as they reach the bridge over the river dividing the north and south sides of town. The North side of Greymeadow is almost exclusively filled with locals who live there, keeping themselves separate from the rest of town and it's all too temporary visitors.
Across the bridge they head to the docks proper which prove easy to find as they simply head towards the lake itself. The Waning Lure itself proves a bit more difficult to find as there is no sign or guidepost of any kind, simply a number of similarly styled and worn buildings by the docks.
Once they catch the sounds of a fight coming from within one of the nearby buildings, it becomes much easier to find the tavern they're looking for.
Nemeia enjoyed her walk with Moira. She was surprised when Moira's father wanted her to focus on starting a family. Nemeia's father was so focused on the trade that it was never even mentioned. Perhaps it was due to the lack of tiefling suitors, but Nemeia knew it was because her father thought the trade was the closest thing to divinity the family would ever face. It was rare he'd ever talk about Migram but he incorporated her symbol into a lot of the things he made. Nemeia always thought he did it because of the large number of gnome customers but she started noticing it on more of his personal items after she told him she was leaving to train in Crystalhaven.
"I do miss him, you know. I can't wait to return home and show him everything I've learned. He's going to be so proud. I'm sure of it." She sighs. "You can only learn so much in one place. There's so much arcane knowledge out there. I can't just waste my time making the same things over and over again." Nemeia seems frustrated as if she's reliving an argument.
"You sure this is where you're meaning to go?," Nemeia asks hesitantly. Not wanting to be the first one into rowdy crowd, Nemeia moves to let someone else enter. She checks her belongings one last time before following them into the tavern.
At this point 9 catches up and observes them standing in the entrance. She moves on past them with a sigh, opening the door to the tavern and stepping in carefully but with determination, “Right, lets see what this place is about”
As you open the doorway into the tavern and step inside you see a form flying towards the party, only to slam into the wall next to the doorway as if thrown with great force. The body slumps to the ground with a loud grunt and as you look to inspect it you realize the floor is littered with even more bodies of several people of all kinds of humanoids, all in various stages of semi-unconsciousness.
In truth the bodies only add to the ambiance of this place. It is the sort of tavern for which the description "Dive Bar" was specifically invented for. Shabby worn out wood covers every corner, repaired badly over and over again for years on end, often from low quality lumber likely pulled up from the lake nearby. Old musky tables and chairs, most of which are laid about on their sides, have the look of mismatched styles that suggested they weren't purchased for this establishment so much as simply ended up here over time. The most sturdy thing in this building is the long, over-sized bar taking up the entire span of the rear of the building. Like two massive felled trees were bolted together then roughly carved into the desired bar shape, which gives it an unexpectedly nice and welcoming look to it.
At the moment you see only five people in the tavern still standing. One is a halfling man with muddy red hair whose small body is a stark contrast to the massive bar he's currently standing on. He holds his palms to his face as if he's now simply trying to ignore everything happening. Other then him there are two men standing on opposite sides of the main floor. One is an fairly tall and thick built human male, his brown hair cut short around his weather worn face. He's wearing simple pale colored commoner's clothing and tall well treated leather boots not unlike what you've seen some of the other fishermen wear. Across from him is a short, even by dwarven standards, middle aged dwarf in leather overalls and thick studded bracers. His balding head is wreathed in thick grey bushy hair which blends in with the equally grey and bushy beard around his face, making it look like half his head simply disappears beneath the tangled mess of grey hair.
The two people that stand out the most, however, are the two women standing in the middle between those two. One is a somewhat short human woman with black hair who, other then a few minor bumps and a bloodied lip, looks like she can keep fighting all day long. Standing immediately behind her is a taller elf woman with blazing red hair underneath a tricorn hat who doesn't seem to have even suffered so much as a single scratch. These two women seem to be enjoying the fight the most.
Sora& Mary- feel free to introduce and describe your characters :D
As soon as the human woman sees the others entering the bar she looks back over her shoulder to the elf with a smile before turning to speak to the dwarf, "If you like we can just call it a draw. Wouldn't want to scare away your customers."
Despite being on the shorter side for a human she still has a knack for making her presence known. Her hair is shaved close on the sides of her head, with the rest growing long and straight as is falls loose down one side and across her shoulder. She wears armor made of tight fitting straps of studded leather all of which - studs and leather both - is dyed a deep black, and not with any intention of blending in, Instead there are gold colored chains that snake through the straps in random patterns. In addition she wears more bright metal jewelry pierced along her ears as well as a pair of thin rings through her bottom lip placed in such a way as to deliberately give the impression of fangs. Behind her leather straps of armor there is enough skin showing through to easily see her very athletic, muscular build as tightly corded muscle moves underneath her pale skin. Thick leather gloves and bracers match equally thick leather boots each with a dagger strapped to it. Around her belt you see a pair of throwing axes at her back and a pair of tightly holstered longswords on each side of her hips, none of which are weapons she's using currently.
She wipes her lip clean of blood before looking back at the new people walking into the bar with a big smile.
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Nemeia lets out an audible, 'oh!', when she's taken by the arm and she looks back at her companion with a hint of concern. Hoping that she was following in pursuit.
"I guess we're both experiencing a lot of new places these past few days then. Gearglow? To most that visit, they'd probably think it's a small town. There's a lot to it though if you spend the time settling in. There are workshops everywhere! If it can be crafted, it can be made in Gearglow! At least that's what father always says. Everyone is really friendly too especially if you're in the trade. That's what brings so many people to the town. It's a hub of master tradespeople and their apprentices working on anything you can imagine.
And you're right, I'm a tiefling. Have been all my life," she chuckles at her own joke. "You like my horns? Can't say I've gotten that compliment before." Nemia's horns are just slightly darker red than her skin but not nearly as dark as her hair. Looking at her horns, you notice they're adorned with pieces of jewelry that dangle as she walks. Looking closely, you'd notice that the pieces look like tiny gears encasing a green gem. "I really haven't seen too many others like me beyond my family back home. They moved there so father could practice his craft. They never really talked about where they came from before that."
Nemeia thinks back to the name of the mansion and quickly checks her belongings making sure that nothing had gone missing during their stay or brunch. She's almost frantic as the idea that someone may have absconded one of her toolsets or even worse her creations.
9 chuckles as Nemeia and Moira go out of the mansion. She looks down upon the halfling and pats his shoulder, “Well, they are going to cause some trouble, won’t they?”. She then follows them without any rush, still taking in the laziness of the morning, and looking around the tavern for any people who were possibly eavesdropping on their whole conversation with sharp eyes, amd says a short prayer. Witt would be able to notice barely visible rustle of raven feathers on her neck along side with a short breeze of chilly air. Once out of the tavern, 9 adjusts her equipment and glances at the sky for couple of minutes. Then she follows Nemeia and Moira to keep them in her eyesight.
Perception + guidance: 24 + 1 from guidance
9 looks about the Inn but doesn't notice anything of interest. There are a couple of travelers who are staying at the inn milling about the main floor, but not that many. If any of them heard your conversation, none are showing any interest.
Moira
"Well I think they are just fantastic. And the jewelry you have on them is quite unique. I craft some myself. I was learning leather work from my father. He made my armor. I've not done anything this complex yet but I can do quite a bit.'" And continue chatting as I head north with my new friend looking for the bridge, then the docks, then "The Lure" across from some boats.
Still back at the inn, Witt replies to Nemeia's questions: Oh, I've done my fair share on the farm, I suppose, but I always wanted to serve Oryn, and now I do. But my family, well, that's a different story. Farmers for as far back as anyone knows. And all from villages near Wheatrest. I think I might have travelled farther than the last four generations combined. He laughs, in a good mood as he always is when he thinks or talks about his family.
Oh, well, we sell to an official merchant in Tarrin Castle. I think they keep some of the food for the castle and the rest goes across the kingdom. Some here, I suppose, since I don't think much grows in the swamp round these parts. I don't remember the name of the official - in fact, it might have been two different people last year and the year before. It's Gerald really who looks after that side of the business. The past two years I was too nervous and wide eyed to get involved much; I promised Father I would pay more attention this year. Actually, I should just quickly go and check on the caravan. Please do excuse me. You're headed to the Waning Lure, isn't that right? I'll catch up later, and we can talk about Moira's mine.
With that, he darts out of the inn and goes in search of Gerald.
Nemeia smiles as Witt tells her about the farm and his adventures. When he talks about the contact, Nemeia begins wondering if it will be the same person that would greet the caravan or if the Queen would have brought in all new staff to fulfill the positions of the kingdom. She nods at him as he excuses himself. "I believe so, she shouts after him. See you there."
As Moira pulls her along, Nemeia just can't believe she's met someone with such similar interests as herself. It had been a while since she met someone with such interests and she can even craft things? Nemeia herself had spent some time working with leather and metals. She had planned to work on more advanced techniques once she found someone that had the time and patience to teach her. "Are we best friends," she blurts out the thought before she could bring it back. She turns her head shyly at the outburst. "I've worked as an apprentice in my father's shop dealing with fabrics, metals, locks, jewelry, and little devices. He even showed me around boiling leather when he could. I had plans to train with some of the gnomes back home to learn more about making armors but I had to hold off on that while I further developed my arcane talents." Nemeia almost seems saddened that she couldn't learn everything from home. "Father told me I needed to perfect one thing before I moved on to the next." She pauses a moment. "I'm not a very good listener."
Nemeia had noticed Moira's armor when she walked into the inn. It had a unique styling that she thought was rather pleasant.
It's easy enough to find Gerald, he's back with the rest of the caravan in the nearby stables, going over the inventory to ensure that nothing was lost in the hectic travels so far. The burly hill dwarf walks around with a dark rust colored beard hanging free and unbraided all the way down to his boots, yet he somehow manages to never get it caught in anything.
Upon seeing Witt he quickly calls out to him, "Oy lad, what are ye doing here? I thought ye were goin' off ta adventure or whatnot with yer new friend there?"
Oh, well, says Witt, I just wanted to check everything was okay, Gerald. Is everything okay? Is there anything I should help with? You know I've been trying to get a bit more involved with the caravan this year, not just leave everything to you. I am here to help, after all. But if you don't need me, I can go do something else...
Gerald blinks slowly as he considers Witt's words, taking a moment to process them all, "No ... no I think we got everything covered. We'll be heading to the inn fer lunch, an' tha's it till mornin'. If ye got somewhere else ta go, then go. I reckon the rest of the night'll be blessedly borin'."
Moira
A wide grin splits Moira's face "Yes, absolutely! Best friends." As her new Best Friend continues talking about her father telling her what to do she kind of rolls her eyes. "Ughh. My dad wanted me to.." She pitches her voice lower and takes on a stern demeanor in an obvious impersonation of her father. "'Get my head out of the clouds. Settle down and start a family.' That is just not for me. Who can worry about things like that when there are adventures to be had and destiny calling?!?"
Boring is good sometimes, says Witt, grinning. But not every time. See you later, Gerald; I'll be at the Waning Lure most likely, if you need me. Don't worry - Moira will be there to make sure I don't get into trouble.
With his caravan-care duties done, he relaxes and zips off down the street in pursuit of the other three.
9 walks 20 or so feet behind Moira and Nemeia, just keeping an eye on them, and looking around in town to see if she notices anything interesting. She observes the seldom fisherman, coming back with a new load, and marvels at how interesting his expression was. He just caught some fish and he was succeful, yet there wasn’t much happiness in his face. That is to say he wasn’t sad either. Some of these people just... exist. I used to be like that. I wonder if it would change them too. 9 thought looking around once more in search of a street food merchant.
Witt moves quickly up through town, eventually catching up to the other three as they reach the bridge over the river dividing the north and south sides of town. The North side of Greymeadow is almost exclusively filled with locals who live there, keeping themselves separate from the rest of town and it's all too temporary visitors.
Across the bridge they head to the docks proper which prove easy to find as they simply head towards the lake itself. The Waning Lure itself proves a bit more difficult to find as there is no sign or guidepost of any kind, simply a number of similarly styled and worn buildings by the docks.
Once they catch the sounds of a fight coming from within one of the nearby buildings, it becomes much easier to find the tavern they're looking for.
Nemeia enjoyed her walk with Moira. She was surprised when Moira's father wanted her to focus on starting a family. Nemeia's father was so focused on the trade that it was never even mentioned. Perhaps it was due to the lack of tiefling suitors, but Nemeia knew it was because her father thought the trade was the closest thing to divinity the family would ever face. It was rare he'd ever talk about Migram but he incorporated her symbol into a lot of the things he made. Nemeia always thought he did it because of the large number of gnome customers but she started noticing it on more of his personal items after she told him she was leaving to train in Crystalhaven.
"I do miss him, you know. I can't wait to return home and show him everything I've learned. He's going to be so proud. I'm sure of it." She sighs. "You can only learn so much in one place. There's so much arcane knowledge out there. I can't just waste my time making the same things over and over again." Nemeia seems frustrated as if she's reliving an argument.
"You sure this is where you're meaning to go?," Nemeia asks hesitantly. Not wanting to be the first one into rowdy crowd, Nemeia moves to let someone else enter. She checks her belongings one last time before following them into the tavern.
At this point 9 catches up and observes them standing in the entrance. She moves on past them with a sigh, opening the door to the tavern and stepping in carefully but with determination, “Right, lets see what this place is about”
Nemeia follows her companion in closely, taking in the sights and the sounds of the tavern.
perception 4
Moira
Feeling a bit embarrassed at her hesitation follows 9 in. Looking around she tries to get the attention of a bar keep.
As you open the doorway into the tavern and step inside you see a form flying towards the party, only to slam into the wall next to the doorway as if thrown with great force. The body slumps to the ground with a loud grunt and as you look to inspect it you realize the floor is littered with even more bodies of several people of all kinds of humanoids, all in various stages of semi-unconsciousness.
In truth the bodies only add to the ambiance of this place. It is the sort of tavern for which the description "Dive Bar" was specifically invented for. Shabby worn out wood covers every corner, repaired badly over and over again for years on end, often from low quality lumber likely pulled up from the lake nearby. Old musky tables and chairs, most of which are laid about on their sides, have the look of mismatched styles that suggested they weren't purchased for this establishment so much as simply ended up here over time. The most sturdy thing in this building is the long, over-sized bar taking up the entire span of the rear of the building. Like two massive felled trees were bolted together then roughly carved into the desired bar shape, which gives it an unexpectedly nice and welcoming look to it.
At the moment you see only five people in the tavern still standing. One is a halfling man with muddy red hair whose small body is a stark contrast to the massive bar he's currently standing on. He holds his palms to his face as if he's now simply trying to ignore everything happening. Other then him there are two men standing on opposite sides of the main floor. One is an fairly tall and thick built human male, his brown hair cut short around his weather worn face. He's wearing simple pale colored commoner's clothing and tall well treated leather boots not unlike what you've seen some of the other fishermen wear. Across from him is a short, even by dwarven standards, middle aged dwarf in leather overalls and thick studded bracers. His balding head is wreathed in thick grey bushy hair which blends in with the equally grey and bushy beard around his face, making it look like half his head simply disappears beneath the tangled mess of grey hair.
The two people that stand out the most, however, are the two women standing in the middle between those two. One is a somewhat short human woman with black hair who, other then a few minor bumps and a bloodied lip, looks like she can keep fighting all day long. Standing immediately behind her is a taller elf woman with blazing red hair underneath a tricorn hat who doesn't seem to have even suffered so much as a single scratch. These two women seem to be enjoying the fight the most.
Sora & Mary - feel free to introduce and describe your characters :D
As soon as the human woman sees the others entering the bar she looks back over her shoulder to the elf with a smile before turning to speak to the dwarf, "If you like we can just call it a draw. Wouldn't want to scare away your customers."
Despite being on the shorter side for a human she still has a knack for making her presence known. Her hair is shaved close on the sides of her head, with the rest growing long and straight as is falls loose down one side and across her shoulder. She wears armor made of tight fitting straps of studded leather all of which - studs and leather both - is dyed a deep black, and not with any intention of blending in, Instead there are gold colored chains that snake through the straps in random patterns. In addition she wears more bright metal jewelry pierced along her ears as well as a pair of thin rings through her bottom lip placed in such a way as to deliberately give the impression of fangs. Behind her leather straps of armor there is enough skin showing through to easily see her very athletic, muscular build as tightly corded muscle moves underneath her pale skin. Thick leather gloves and bracers match equally thick leather boots each with a dagger strapped to it. Around her belt you see a pair of throwing axes at her back and a pair of tightly holstered longswords on each side of her hips, none of which are weapons she's using currently.
She wipes her lip clean of blood before looking back at the new people walking into the bar with a big smile.