Night begins to fall and you find yourselves returning to the same inn you set out from weeks ago in Neverwinter. Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The air heavy and moist, odd for a night so far north, seems to linger in place. Like swimming rather than walking, you watch as people make their way about the town. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk. The music and laughter fills the room, making it almost impossible to hear the person sitting next to you. Your new rag tag band of friends that was brought together by your now former employer sit around a table in the corner of the tavern facing the door. After dividing up the small pay that was afforded to you, each of you receive 5 gold pieces from the payment. Fresh meat is brought to your table and another round of drinks is brought over by two of the bar maids.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
The huge Goliath moves his body on the chair, trying to accommodate in the small chair. At least small for him. Large even for a Goliath Kraerd had his massive greataxe on the wall behind him as he smiled to the maid. “Bring two legs for me. And three of that tankards. I am hungry!” He laughs and the rest of his latest friends had never seen him so relaxed since they meet outside Nerverwinter few weeks ago. It had to pass a full week and a lot of promises for their part for the Goliath to finally enter the city walls, but it seems that he is finally feeling more comfortable around them now that they had battle together.
Close to the fire -- maybe ten feet around the curved wall of the common room -- lies a thick, generally round pile of discarded clothing. Tattered cloth, stained grey wool, nothing anyone would actually want to wear. Even if there were any colorful bits to catch the eye, the smell emanating from them is enough to dissuade you of that notion. Sweat and blood and rotgut liquor with a tang of horseshit fill the nostrils of anyone unwise enough to investigate. Any twitching or squirming within the pile, you might attribute to the white mouse that scampers out of one end of the pile, across the top and back into it again, if you wanted to waste any attention on it at all.
The "pile of rags" does pay attention, though. Keen attention. It stays quiet despite all the talking, because in and dry with a side of warm is always better than out and wet and cold.
And whatever happened outside the door on this strange foggy night in Neverwinter... no thanks. Not my business.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Shariel sat quietly reserved in her chair with the raucous goliath. Though normally very gregarious, these crowded places were a constant source of anxiety for the elf. She kept a linen scarf wrapped around her head, and a large, plain tunic over her reinforced jacket of leather and cloth. Under her layers, known only to few, and fully to none, a network of tattoos wove and spun over her, entangling bright blues, verdant greens, and pale whites. Lastly, hung about her hips were a pair of hatchets and a long dagger across the small of her back.
The elf stared at her drink, lost in memories, and swirling a finger on the table while watching a mirrored disturbance in her glass. Such reveries were a mode of escape. It felt as though she was able to release herself from bondage and sail freely through some higher consciousness.
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
"What?! You don't have enough already?" a gnome with wild, white hair exclaims with a nasal voice as he stands in the chair next to the goliath. He pokes Kraerd in the side with a bony elbow. "See you've got plenty here, Kray!" He waves a multi-buckled gloved hand toward the table at a plate of turkey legs. "Mmm. Smells good!" A few coppers in one of his many pockets jingle as he reaches in and rubs one of the coins, causing the smell of cooked meats to waft around the gnome. He clasps the large man on the back and deposits his behind in his chair.
Otis adjusts the many straps of the the well-polished studded leather pieces covering his torso. With a crooked smile he scoops up his mug of ale and take a large gulp from his mug, spilling much down his chin. "Ah!"He wipes his mess with a rag he produces from a pocket. "So, where are we off to next?"He leans back in chair and begins to twirl his a newly acquired rod - a shaft of ash and walnut twisted together and topped with a small, dark blue opal flecked with orange.
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring.
Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk.
Suddenly, the tavern door swings open, and a hush falls over the room. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a form strides through the doorway. His heavy, booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shatter the silence. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him, and his hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadows. Without hesitation, he walks up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms.
In an accented voice he says, “I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night!” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. “Take the north road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia.”
Amid the silent stares of the patronage, the ***** strides to the bar and says to the wary barkeep, “Fill the glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He drops a purse heavy with gold on the bar. With that, he leaves.
The babble of tavern voices resumes, although somewhat subdued. The letter is lying before you. The seal is in the shape of a crest you don’t recognize.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
"Never heard of it. Doesn't mean it's not a place, though." Shariel leans back in her seat, cradling her mug and eyeing the letter with a clear distrust.
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
By the discreet corner of the table cast under the dancing shadows, a stooped bearded man with light caramel vaasani skin broods over a half-empty tankard, idly listening to the cavalcade of noise and song in the tavern. He wears crude dark-green cloak wrapped around an old suit of chain mail worn from use and has a haggard face, rough and indistinct save for a fading pattern of heraldry etched across his face. His sunken eyes seem dull, drained of all life and joy except for a razor-sharp glint of attention that can sense early signs of trouble. Through connection of the previous employer, he had swung a blade by your side but had spoken very little, save for honest gratitude for keeping his back safe or wounds closed. Perhaps appropriate, for his zhentilar drawl is not welcome this side of the civilized world. His name is Zeus, or Zeuves if anyone can wrap his tongue around those darned Moonsea names, and he had sworn allegiance where others would just offer a casual friendship; that made for an awkward moment a few friendly jokes under the belt he had taken with a cast determination. For now, he had kept his sworn word.
"Never heard of it, as well. Not any part of the heartlands, that's for sure.", he leans to get a side view of the strange man's back by the bar. "Does any of you know him, or can recognize that employer of his? He behaves as we should. That is no way to errand a common band."
"Did you all, lowlanders, had lost your mind? There are no Barovia or Svalich Woods in Neverwinter. We are in Neverwinter. That man was crazy I told you. I am not surprised. You lowlanders do not get enough air."
The gnome takes up his freshly topped-off mug and raises toward the door before downing half the ale. "Off to a good start, I'd say! Already bought us a round without having to do a thing."He grabs the letter, briefly examines the foreign seal before opening it. "Hmmm... From the Burgomaster himself!" He says after quickly reading the message. "I haven't heard of any title like that around here, but sounds important. Promising us all that he has to help out his sweetheart that's sick."He throws the parchments in the middle if the table for the others to read if they wish.
"Eat your food, you," he says to Kraerd. "I haven't heard of half the places around here either. He told us how to get there so it must exists, right?!"
As the group discusses this strange appearance, the large firbolg cleric Rav absently strokes the dark, braided goatee that hangs slightly from his chin. "Something about this sits ill with me. How did this man know we would be here of all places? He clearly knew who were are and sought us directly. How is this? Who was he? Who is his master? What is the land of Barovia of which he speaks? I... I do not like this." He reaches up to touch a a beautiful silver and blue stone amulet that hangs from his neck. "Perhaps Selûne could enlighten us as to the identity of these people. Should they not be seeking our misfortune, we should seek this man out and offer up our skills. Clearly he seeks to offer his coin. This last job was easy and the pay decent, but this Barovia sounds a land of plenty."
"He spoke unknown names of places but he did not provide us with any directions. As if we are assumed to travel by the right path and stumble upon it by ourselves. I agree with Rav." Zeus casts his attention at the letter int he gnome hands, unsealed the moment before he could warn against it. "Unless any of you can remember who he is and who he works for, for I can't, we may be walking blindly in something bigger. I advise caution, and a sense of reason whatever the coin it is." Knowing firsthand the words would not go penetrate past the fiery enthusiasm of the goliath, he still finds it appropriate to voice concern.
Shariel spins the invitation and reads it over carefully, "First of all Kraerd, just because you've never seen or heard of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I'm no lowlander either and I know as much. Second, there's too many holes and unknowns. The messenger, the place, the sender, everything." She brushes the letter away and it skids back to the middle.
"You've all been good enough to take me as a refugee with little questioning, so thanks for that. But believe me because of that when I say that too many unknowns going into a job is asking for big trouble. I don't like this, and I wouldn't mind biding our time another few days for a better offer."
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
Zeus exchanges glance with Shariel, then nods to the goliath. "You're right, Kraerd. Then this may involve long travel time. If so, we should definitely consider our options. Our supplies are limited and I owe this money to more than myself." He doesn't continue to avoid scoffs, but his hint may remind the rest of the few charities he had spoken of before. He seems to be drawn by the distress call from the letter, yet none of it felt genuine to him. "Again, does any of you know or has heard of this employer, and does anyone has an idea what it may entail? All we have so far is a charade of a plea, and a pompous one presented like it is a traveling drama act. We might as well be watched for our firsthand response, too. This is too forward for any local man, I know few here who would immediately come to rescue a woman in distress."
A familiar laugh echoes softly in Rav's mind as Marius enjoys the delicious irony.
[using Awakened Mind] "I have a tender spot for heartsick fellows wanting to help their sweethearts. We should go!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
The gnome shakes his head "No" at the paladin's question and slumps back pouting at the lack of enthusiasm some of the group seem to have. He scratches his chin as he listens to the apprehensions of the group. "Well, if this turns out not to be some sort of trick," he finally squeaks like a shawm with a broken reed, "they say the first thing in avoiding a trap is knowing there is a trap. We're some smart ones here... mostly," he dismisses the illusion of the plate of food before Kraerd, "I'm sure we can handle a little trickeration, if that's what we find." He slurps down the rest of his ale. "Now, I'm gonna get me some sleep since we need to be up early, and I'll see who ever is curious enough to join me on the road at dawn."
Rav glances over towards Marius speaks to him telepathically and smirks. "This place does exist, north of here some several days travel. I have heard of it, but know little else about this land. If these claims are true, we could help someone with a good amount of pull and resources. Perhaps establish ourselves in a new place?"
Night begins to fall and you find yourselves returning to the same inn you set out from weeks ago in Neverwinter. Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The air heavy and moist, odd for a night so far north, seems to linger in place. Like swimming rather than walking, you watch as people make their way about the town. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk. The music and laughter fills the room, making it almost impossible to hear the person sitting next to you. Your new rag tag band of friends that was brought together by your now former employer sit around a table in the corner of the tavern facing the door. After dividing up the small pay that was afforded to you, each of you receive 5 gold pieces from the payment. Fresh meat is brought to your table and another round of drinks is brought over by two of the bar maids.
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
The huge Goliath moves his body on the chair, trying to accommodate in the small chair. At least small for him. Large even for a Goliath Kraerd had his massive greataxe on the wall behind him as he smiled to the maid.
“Bring two legs for me. And three of that tankards. I am hungry!” He laughs and the rest of his latest friends had never seen him so relaxed since they meet outside Nerverwinter few weeks ago.
It had to pass a full week and a lot of promises for their part for the Goliath to finally enter the city walls, but it seems that he is finally feeling more comfortable around them now that they had battle together.
PbP Character: A few ;)
Close to the fire -- maybe ten feet around the curved wall of the common room -- lies a thick, generally round pile of discarded clothing. Tattered cloth, stained grey wool, nothing anyone would actually want to wear. Even if there were any colorful bits to catch the eye, the smell emanating from them is enough to dissuade you of that notion. Sweat and blood and rotgut liquor with a tang of horseshit fill the nostrils of anyone unwise enough to investigate. Any twitching or squirming within the pile, you might attribute to the white mouse that scampers out of one end of the pile, across the top and back into it again, if you wanted to waste any attention on it at all.
The "pile of rags" does pay attention, though. Keen attention. It stays quiet despite all the talking, because in and dry with a side of warm is always better than out and wet and cold.
And whatever happened outside the door on this strange foggy night in Neverwinter... no thanks. Not my business.
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Shariel sat quietly reserved in her chair with the raucous goliath. Though normally very gregarious, these crowded places were a constant source of anxiety for the elf. She kept a linen scarf wrapped around her head, and a large, plain tunic over her reinforced jacket of leather and cloth. Under her layers, known only to few, and fully to none, a network of tattoos wove and spun over her, entangling bright blues, verdant greens, and pale whites. Lastly, hung about her hips were a pair of hatchets and a long dagger across the small of her back.
The elf stared at her drink, lost in memories, and swirling a finger on the table while watching a mirrored disturbance in her glass. Such reveries were a mode of escape. It felt as though she was able to release herself from bondage and sail freely through some higher consciousness.
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
"What?! You don't have enough already?" a gnome with wild, white hair exclaims with a nasal voice as he stands in the chair next to the goliath. He pokes Kraerd in the side with a bony elbow. "See you've got plenty here, Kray!" He waves a multi-buckled gloved hand toward the table at a plate of turkey legs. "Mmm. Smells good!" A few coppers in one of his many pockets jingle as he reaches in and rubs one of the coins, causing the smell of cooked meats to waft around the gnome. He clasps the large man on the back and deposits his behind in his chair.
Otis adjusts the many straps of the the well-polished studded leather pieces covering his torso. With a crooked smile he scoops up his mug of ale and take a large gulp from his mug, spilling much down his chin. "Ah!" He wipes his mess with a rag he produces from a pocket. "So, where are we off to next?" He leans back in chair and begins to twirl his a newly acquired rod - a shaft of ash and walnut twisted together and topped with a small, dark blue opal flecked with orange.
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring.
Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk.
Suddenly, the tavern door swings open, and a hush falls over the room. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a form strides through the doorway. His heavy, booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shatter the silence. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him, and his hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadows. Without hesitation, he walks up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms.
In an accented voice he says, “I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night!” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. “Take the north road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia.”
Amid the silent stares of the patronage, the ***** strides to the bar and says to the wary barkeep, “Fill the glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He drops a purse heavy with gold on the bar. With that, he leaves.
The babble of tavern voices resumes, although somewhat subdued. The letter is lying before you. The seal is in the shape of a crest you don’t recognize.
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
“What are that man talking about? What is Barovia ?”
PbP Character: A few ;)
"Never heard of it. Doesn't mean it's not a place, though." Shariel leans back in her seat, cradling her mug and eyeing the letter with a clear distrust.
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
By the discreet corner of the table cast under the dancing shadows, a stooped bearded man with light caramel vaasani skin broods over a half-empty tankard, idly listening to the cavalcade of noise and song in the tavern. He wears crude dark-green cloak wrapped around an old suit of chain mail worn from use and has a haggard face, rough and indistinct save for a fading pattern of heraldry etched across his face. His sunken eyes seem dull, drained of all life and joy except for a razor-sharp glint of attention that can sense early signs of trouble. Through connection of the previous employer, he had swung a blade by your side but had spoken very little, save for honest gratitude for keeping his back safe or wounds closed. Perhaps appropriate, for his zhentilar drawl is not welcome this side of the civilized world. His name is Zeus, or Zeuves if anyone can wrap his tongue around those darned Moonsea names, and he had sworn allegiance where others would just offer a casual friendship; that made for an awkward moment a few friendly jokes under the belt he had taken with a cast determination. For now, he had kept his sworn word.
"Never heard of it, as well. Not any part of the heartlands, that's for sure.", he leans to get a side view of the strange man's back by the bar. "Does any of you know him, or can recognize that employer of his? He behaves as we should. That is no way to errand a common band."
"Did you all, lowlanders, had lost your mind? There are no Barovia or Svalich Woods in Neverwinter. We are in Neverwinter. That man was crazy I told you. I am not surprised. You lowlanders do not get enough air."
PbP Character: A few ;)
The gnome takes up his freshly topped-off mug and raises toward the door before downing half the ale. "Off to a good start, I'd say! Already bought us a round without having to do a thing." He grabs the letter, briefly examines the foreign seal before opening it. "Hmmm... From the Burgomaster himself!" He says after quickly reading the message. "I haven't heard of any title like that around here, but sounds important. Promising us all that he has to help out his sweetheart that's sick." He throws the parchments in the middle if the table for the others to read if they wish.
"Eat your food, you," he says to Kraerd. "I haven't heard of half the places around here either. He told us how to get there so it must exists, right?!"
As the group discusses this strange appearance, the large firbolg cleric Rav absently strokes the dark, braided goatee that hangs slightly from his chin. "Something about this sits ill with me. How did this man know we would be here of all places? He clearly knew who were are and sought us directly. How is this? Who was he? Who is his master? What is the land of Barovia of which he speaks? I... I do not like this." He reaches up to touch a a beautiful silver and blue stone amulet that hangs from his neck. "Perhaps Selûne could enlighten us as to the identity of these people. Should they not be seeking our misfortune, we should seek this man out and offer up our skills. Clearly he seeks to offer his coin. This last job was easy and the pay decent, but this Barovia sounds a land of plenty."
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
"He spoke unknown names of places but he did not provide us with any directions. As if we are assumed to travel by the right path and stumble upon it by ourselves. I agree with Rav." Zeus casts his attention at the letter int he gnome hands, unsealed the moment before he could warn against it. "Unless any of you can remember who he is and who he works for, for I can't, we may be walking blindly in something bigger. I advise caution, and a sense of reason whatever the coin it is." Knowing firsthand the words would not go penetrate past the fiery enthusiasm of the goliath, he still finds it appropriate to voice concern.
Shariel spins the invitation and reads it over carefully, "First of all Kraerd, just because you've never seen or heard of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I'm no lowlander either and I know as much. Second, there's too many holes and unknowns. The messenger, the place, the sender, everything." She brushes the letter away and it skids back to the middle.
"You've all been good enough to take me as a refugee with little questioning, so thanks for that. But believe me because of that when I say that too many unknowns going into a job is asking for big trouble. I don't like this, and I wouldn't mind biding our time another few days for a better offer."
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 big Goliath finish his ale and says
“I am not saying those places doesn’t exist. I am saying that there are no such places here in Neverwinter.”
PbP Character: A few ;)
Zeus exchanges glance with Shariel, then nods to the goliath. "You're right, Kraerd. Then this may involve long travel time. If so, we should definitely consider our options. Our supplies are limited and I owe this money to more than myself." He doesn't continue to avoid scoffs, but his hint may remind the rest of the few charities he had spoken of before. He seems to be drawn by the distress call from the letter, yet none of it felt genuine to him. "Again, does any of you know or has heard of this employer, and does anyone has an idea what it may entail? All we have so far is a charade of a plea, and a pompous one presented like it is a traveling drama act. We might as well be watched for our firsthand response, too. This is too forward for any local man, I know few here who would immediately come to rescue a woman in distress."
A familiar laugh echoes softly in Rav's mind as Marius enjoys the delicious irony.
[using Awakened Mind] "I have a tender spot for heartsick fellows wanting to help their sweethearts. We should go!"
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
The gnome shakes his head "No" at the paladin's question and slumps back pouting at the lack of enthusiasm some of the group seem to have. He scratches his chin as he listens to the apprehensions of the group. "Well, if this turns out not to be some sort of trick," he finally squeaks like a shawm with a broken reed, "they say the first thing in avoiding a trap is knowing there is a trap. We're some smart ones here... mostly," he dismisses the illusion of the plate of food before Kraerd, "I'm sure we can handle a little trickeration, if that's what we find." He slurps down the rest of his ale. "Now, I'm gonna get me some sleep since we need to be up early, and I'll see who ever is curious enough to join me on the road at dawn."
Rav glances over towards Marius speaks to him telepathically and smirks. "This place does exist, north of here some several days travel. I have heard of it, but know little else about this land. If these claims are true, we could help someone with a good amount of pull and resources. Perhaps establish ourselves in a new place?"
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
"As you wish lowlanders. But must be tonight?" asks the big goliath looking at the second plate of dinner that are approaching the table.
PbP Character: A few ;)