It seemed like only a short while ago that the shining Legions of the Lowlands, the best and finest of Talaveroth's most affluent and advanced civilizations, marched down the great Wells of the cities of Capitol, Arvad, and Sar-Orat. Dwarves and gnomes together, they drove to the deepest crypts of the 15th level beneath the Lowlands, reclaiming territory thought lost to time, to shadow, to the Drow Matriarchy. For months, they staved off creatures of the dark, losing ground and gaining it again, every tunnel and intersection payed again and again in blood.
They say a sudden offensive, brilliant in its speed and power, pierced the Legions vanguard and drove them back to the 7th level. There, they met their end. The Legions disappeared overnight, and messengers disappeared as they tried to reach long-established footholds beneath the surface.
It was not long after that the Drow themselves appeared. Towers of dark stone and enamel rose from beneath the cities themselves, creating unnatural hills like cancerous tumors, releasing soldiers into the night. It did not take long for the last remnants of the Guard, the Lowland's oldest military order, to fall. The Matriarchy's victory was complete.
Yet, their victory brought no peace for either side. Even as the last flames of open resistance guttered and died before the tide of shadow, a sense of great unease washed across all - invader and local alike. What next, now that the war was done?
The passes leading out of the Lowlands were blocked first, followed by the naval trade routes. The recently enterprised technology of air travel was banned, and the trade that had once kept the Lowlands a thriving land of innovation and wealth faltered - the first gasps of total economic suffocation. With the borders locked, and patrols roaming the streets at night, we gather now to our small theater of action - an inn of modest standing. Like many of it's kind, it is well lit, filled with warmth and the hearty smells of dark ale, roasting meat, and friendly companionship. Jolly music played and lanterns burned, and although some smiles were forced, only too glad to forget for a while the terrors of the night outside, most were glad, for what could bring heart to those in need like song and dance, food and conversation. Business is up tonight, and tables are full across the tavern. Seeking seats in a quieter corner, five strangers share a table and a meal...
A short elf in dark robes pulls up a chair. "Hope you don't mind. Just looking for a table that doesn't have anyone dancing on it." He gestures back over his shoulder to the way he came, where you can see a table with three gnomes dancing on top.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisysin Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
A young human male, sitting across the table, winks at the approaching elf before responding, "Ah -- welcome..." -- his start trailing off giving way to the subtle sound of some liquid streaming into another body of liquid originating from below the table. The sound slows and eventually stops and the lad leans forward to place something on the floor with an audible clunk. He continues, "just don't knock that over."
Before you is a man barely a day over twenty wearing light breathable clothes (see spoiler for more desc). His bright hazel eyes, nestled between his short wavy hair and two weeks stubble, give the impression of someone with keen awareness hidden behind a rugged exterior. He is of average height and athletically fit with sun baked skin that speaks to long days out in the wilds. The tankard of ale in front of him is about half full, but there are a number of pools of condensation near where it sits on the table.
Smiling he says, "Name's Gadus, well met." He pulls one of his arms from under the table and extends his hand for a handshake.
OoC: Gadus' familiar is in hawk form perched on the roof of the inn keeping a lookout for: any suspicious activity; large groups of similarly dressed peoples; drow; people/groups of people moving at an elevated/emergency speed.
Yesss their false joy is rather grating. There sseems to be a somber mood outside. My work kept me away from recent eventss can any of you tell me what in the abyss happened? The speaker looks human at first glance, his long black hair protruding from his hood. But as you look closer you notice his eyes are yellow and Slitted like a snakes, and his skin is a pale white, almost scaly in appearance. His slim form is swaddled in dark clothes and leather as he sips from his cup. Forgive my mannerss my name is Salazar. Pleased to meet you
The elf reaches out and shakes the offered hand before nodding to the other speaker. "Anansi. Nice to meet you both. What brings you to this dark land?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisysin Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Win, who is an middle-aged human is surveying all that is going on about him begins to lightly strum his lute and just hum. Musically he introduces himself as Win the traveling bard.
Hearing Salazar ask what has happened, Sereena steps over to the table. You see a young female half orc standing at 6’7” with dark brown dreads pouring over her shoulder. Her chainmail is somewhat dusty as though she has not had time to clean it up from a long travel.
“What hole have you been living in? The city has completely changed. The landscape has changed. There is nothing the same as it was just a few days ago. Your war is over, the city is taken, and on complete lockdown. Drow effectively own everything now. But I would venture to say that there is still something darker yet brewing. I was on my way here on behalf of the Temple of Ilmater to work with a local clan to create a place to aid the refugees of the war. They never showed at the arranged time. I can only hope they survived.”
Sereena pulls up a chair and sits down. She flags down a server and asks for a water.
"Well that's an ominous take," Gadus says while raising his tankard in the clergywoman's direction. "Hopefully, your brothers and sisters of the cloth are still alive out there following their conviction," his gravely baritone solemnly offers.
Turning squarely to the half-orc he continues, "the Lowlands have always been a dark place though -- as long as I remember it, there has been war. The recent developments are interesting, or tragic, and have disrupted my initial plans for traveling here. It seems our would be overlords are quite the possessive type." He nods at both Sereena and Win, "to god and song," and downs the rest of his ale.
Ssso what you’re saying is that the war iss over the drow have one and the borderss are closed? Sully has a slow sip from his cup well that complicates matters. He leans back in his chair and what about you fine folk? What are you going to do while this all sssssorts itself out? There is opportunity in chaoss after all
The silence of the room is sudden, and you are all abruptly reminded of the old adage 'silence speaks louder than words'. In this case, it is deafening.
Where once the clink of tankards, the sprightly and guttural voices of local taverners, and the joyous celebration known only to the inebriated filled the air with a warm, albeit cloying, noise, now a chill quiet has taken hold. Indeed, it is chillier, for the door stands open, revealing a tall figure wrapped in a cloak darker than the night without. Stooping to pass beneath the doorway, the Drow enters, followed by three similarly lanky figures. Reflective masks cover their faces, and despite the bright light of the interior, they seem unperturbed. As they remove their cloaks, you catch a glimpse of the masks themselves - where there should be eyes, disturbing gaps, voids, seem to draw in light, draining color itself for a few inches around their shapely heads.
One of them says something in their alien tongue, and the other two laugh. They approach a relatively clean table, which is immediately vacated by a small crowd of gnomes, and perhaps a few halflings as well. Their movement seems to break the spell, and dark mutterings fill the room. Turning in annoyance, one of the drow turns and, speaking a soft word, twists his hand into an arcane shape in the air. The lights seem to dim, the fire die a little, and the chill night air from without seems to find every crack and loose floorboard. Seemingly more comfortable, the drow return to a quiet discussion amongst themselves. The dark mutterings turn to a few jeering calls, which are promptly ignored.
Barak, the Inkeep, Barman, and owner of the Golden Horn (the very same establishment in which you now sit), approaches with a tray of Ales. Setting his load on the table, he begins to unload, bringing over a few loaves of bread as well. One of the drow, with a dismissive gesture, knocks one of the tankards over, spilling its contents onto his beard. In a gravelly and harshly accented voice, he whispers, "Wine." The word carries through the room like a gunshot. Several gasps can be heard as the tankard hits the floor, chipping on one side. Barak visibly swells in fury but, biting his tongue, nods and replies, "At once, lord." Turning away, you can see from your position that his hands have turned to a beet red, and that the tray is beginning to splinter along the middle as his great muscles flex with wrath.
While considerably more subdued than before, the band strikes up again, and most return to their drinks, content to shoot concerned and vicious glances over at the drow, who continue to laugh and talk as if unaware of the rest of the tavern-goers.
After serving the drow several flagons of fine wine, Barak approaches your table. He continues wiping his beard with a dishtowel, and, as he brings over more bread and honey-yellow wheel of cheese, softly speaks. "Sorry you had to see that. I've heard of Drow officers visiting other taverns in the Lowlands 'round here. Best not to cross them. Me cousin did. Havn't heard from him since." He wrings his hands together. "Seein' as you aren't from around, I ask that you don't make a scene tonight. Just... remember." He turns away, but suddenly wrinkles his brow, as if considering a new thought.
"Say, you there. Tall one - you wouldn' happen to be named Sereena The Pious, would'ya?"
There would be no profit in causing a sscene. You’ll have none from us good ssir. Sully smiles coldly. You briefly see his sharp canines as he leans back in his chair
There would be no profit in causing a sscene. You’ll have none from us good ssir. Sully smiles coldly. You briefly see his sharp canines as he leans back in his chair
Curious as to what the Drow did to dim the atmosphere Gadus racks his memory (Arcana: 9).
Gadus leans back in his seat as Barak returns, soaking in the exchange between the tavern master and Sereena. Something about how the barkeep went from asking the group to not cause a scene to addressing the largest person at the table felt off to the caster. Gadus focuses in on Barak as he continues his discussion with Sereena, trying to suss out the intention of his personalized questioning and what his inevitable conclusion will be before he speaks it (Insight: 4).
OoC: how did Gadus' familiar not see the drow as they approached?
Anansi flips up the hood on his coat, hiding his blond locks. "Aye, there will be no quarrel tonight.Unfortunate."The last word is said very quietly and those at the table can see that he has his hand on the hilt of a sheathed dagger.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisysin Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
(Gadus's mental rummaging turns no results, though you recall a vague footnote in a particularly dusty old tome that alluded to the possibility that different cultures zealously guarded unique practices of magic, forbidden to be shown or taught to outsiders. The particular reference of the note escapes you, though this seems to be a prime example of its subject matter. Your familiar is apologetic, but reports only extreme darkness without - like as seen during the nights of a new moon.)
Barak, wringing his hands, nods appreciatively. "Good, good. That'll be good, then. I ask of your name only because I was told to keep a lookout for you. Tall lady, sign of Ilmater. Not many other details come to think of it, but seein' as Ilmater has no temple - beggin' yer pardon - here, I figured I'd ask. You'll be wantin to meet Mr. Redrickson, I've no doubt. Come and see me once most of these lot have cleared - "
A sudden spitting sound rips across the floor. One of the Drow (to the left of the speaker) wipes his mouth on his dark sleeve, leaving a wide red stain on the floor. He says something to the speaker, who, with a malicious grin, motions to Barak.
"Come."
16, 19
A cry of indignation dies on his lips as he suddenly goes, sweat breaking out on his face once again as he takes a step. Then, with an audible crack, something in the air between him and the speaker seems to break, leaving the dwarf panting, but stubbornly planted on his feet. The Drow twists his head, his smile of simple pleasure at another's expected discomfort turning to something a little more sinister. He stands. His compatriots do the same, along with about half of the remaining customers at the bar. Several of them seem to be fingering a variety of blunt and bladed weapons hidden on their person.
"Proclamation 31 - willful disregard of a direct command. You will come with us. Now."
A quick patter of footsteps and, before any can react, a gnome slips by and drops to his knees, using his full bodyweight to drive a wooden stake through the speaker's calf. Even as he lets out a shout of surprise and pain, the gnome somersaults backwards, landing on a table and, with a flourishing gesture, speaks a word that is at once clearly heard and entirely indecipherable. A glowing, golden rune appears on his forehead, reflected in his bright, glassy eyes. Immediately thick brambles begin to grow out of the stake, twisting up his legs and through the floorboards beneath. In a breath's span, a 5t square area around where the drow are standing is covered in barbed vines, twisting and holding them in place.
We will now be rolling initiative. If you wish to exclude yourself from the combat, take 1 action's worth of movement to position yourself where you hope to avoid normal combat. Otherwise, roll initiative.
It seemed like only a short while ago that the shining Legions of the Lowlands, the best and finest of Talaveroth's most affluent and advanced civilizations, marched down the great Wells of the cities of Capitol, Arvad, and Sar-Orat. Dwarves and gnomes together, they drove to the deepest crypts of the 15th level beneath the Lowlands, reclaiming territory thought lost to time, to shadow, to the Drow Matriarchy. For months, they staved off creatures of the dark, losing ground and gaining it again, every tunnel and intersection payed again and again in blood.
They say a sudden offensive, brilliant in its speed and power, pierced the Legions vanguard and drove them back to the 7th level. There, they met their end. The Legions disappeared overnight, and messengers disappeared as they tried to reach long-established footholds beneath the surface.
It was not long after that the Drow themselves appeared. Towers of dark stone and enamel rose from beneath the cities themselves, creating unnatural hills like cancerous tumors, releasing soldiers into the night. It did not take long for the last remnants of the Guard, the Lowland's oldest military order, to fall. The Matriarchy's victory was complete.
Yet, their victory brought no peace for either side. Even as the last flames of open resistance guttered and died before the tide of shadow, a sense of great unease washed across all - invader and local alike. What next, now that the war was done?
The passes leading out of the Lowlands were blocked first, followed by the naval trade routes. The recently enterprised technology of air travel was banned, and the trade that had once kept the Lowlands a thriving land of innovation and wealth faltered - the first gasps of total economic suffocation. With the borders locked, and patrols roaming the streets at night, we gather now to our small theater of action - an inn of modest standing. Like many of it's kind, it is well lit, filled with warmth and the hearty smells of dark ale, roasting meat, and friendly companionship. Jolly music played and lanterns burned, and although some smiles were forced, only too glad to forget for a while the terrors of the night outside, most were glad, for what could bring heart to those in need like song and dance, food and conversation. Business is up tonight, and tables are full across the tavern. Seeking seats in a quieter corner, five strangers share a table and a meal...
A short elf in dark robes pulls up a chair. "Hope you don't mind. Just looking for a table that doesn't have anyone dancing on it." He gestures back over his shoulder to the way he came, where you can see a table with three gnomes dancing on top.
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
A young human male, sitting across the table, winks at the approaching elf before responding, "Ah -- welcome..." -- his start trailing off giving way to the subtle sound of some liquid streaming into another body of liquid originating from below the table. The sound slows and eventually stops and the lad leans forward to place something on the floor with an audible clunk. He continues, "just don't knock that over."
Before you is a man barely a day over twenty wearing light breathable clothes (see spoiler for more desc). His bright hazel eyes, nestled between his short wavy hair and two weeks stubble, give the impression of someone with keen awareness hidden behind a rugged exterior. He is of average height and athletically fit with sun baked skin that speaks to long days out in the wilds. The tankard of ale in front of him is about half full, but there are a number of pools of condensation near where it sits on the table.
Smiling he says, "Name's Gadus, well met." He pulls one of his arms from under the table and extends his hand for a handshake.
Very similar to this, except Gadus is male and the cloak has a hood.
https://i.pinimg.com/236x/c5/e1/68/c5e1681593ef345175851ee2118cc563.jpg
OoC: Gadus' familiar is in hawk form perched on the roof of the inn keeping a lookout for: any suspicious activity; large groups of similarly dressed peoples; drow; people/groups of people moving at an elevated/emergency speed.
Yesss their false joy is rather grating. There sseems to be a somber mood outside. My work kept me away from recent eventss can any of you tell me what in the abyss happened? The speaker looks human at first glance, his long black hair protruding from his hood. But as you look closer you notice his eyes are yellow and Slitted like a snakes, and his skin is a pale white, almost scaly in appearance. His slim form is swaddled in dark clothes and leather as he sips from his cup. Forgive my mannerss my name is Salazar. Pleased to meet you
The elf reaches out and shakes the offered hand before nodding to the other speaker. "Anansi. Nice to meet you both. What brings you to this dark land?"
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Win, who is an middle-aged human is surveying all that is going on about him begins to lightly strum his lute and just hum. Musically he introduces himself as Win the traveling bard.
Hearing Salazar ask what has happened, Sereena steps over to the table. You see a young female half orc standing at 6’7” with dark brown dreads pouring over her shoulder. Her chainmail is somewhat dusty as though she has not had time to clean it up from a long travel.
“What hole have you been living in? The city has completely changed. The landscape has changed. There is nothing the same as it was just a few days ago. Your war is over, the city is taken, and on complete lockdown. Drow effectively own everything now. But I would venture to say that there is still something darker yet brewing. I was on my way here on behalf of the Temple of Ilmater to work with a local clan to create a place to aid the refugees of the war. They never showed at the arranged time. I can only hope they survived.”
Sereena pulls up a chair and sits down. She flags down a server and asks for a water.
"Well that's an ominous take," Gadus says while raising his tankard in the clergywoman's direction. "Hopefully, your brothers and sisters of the cloth are still alive out there following their conviction," his gravely baritone solemnly offers.
Turning squarely to the half-orc he continues, "the Lowlands have always been a dark place though -- as long as I remember it, there has been war. The recent developments are interesting, or tragic, and have disrupted my initial plans for traveling here. It seems our would be overlords are quite the possessive type." He nods at both Sereena and Win, "to god and song," and downs the rest of his ale.
"I think ominous describes everything in this land quite nicely right now." Anansi raises his tankard to the toast as well.
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Ssso what you’re saying is that the war iss over the drow have one and the borderss are closed? Sully has a slow sip from his cup well that complicates matters. He leans back in his chair and what about you fine folk? What are you going to do while this all sssssorts itself out? There is opportunity in chaoss after all
Win smiles and nods and continues to play quietly
"That's why I'm here. Trying to find out just what opportunities there are and who's trying to take advantage of them."
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
The silence of the room is sudden, and you are all abruptly reminded of the old adage 'silence speaks louder than words'. In this case, it is deafening.
Where once the clink of tankards, the sprightly and guttural voices of local taverners, and the joyous celebration known only to the inebriated filled the air with a warm, albeit cloying, noise, now a chill quiet has taken hold. Indeed, it is chillier, for the door stands open, revealing a tall figure wrapped in a cloak darker than the night without. Stooping to pass beneath the doorway, the Drow enters, followed by three similarly lanky figures. Reflective masks cover their faces, and despite the bright light of the interior, they seem unperturbed. As they remove their cloaks, you catch a glimpse of the masks themselves - where there should be eyes, disturbing gaps, voids, seem to draw in light, draining color itself for a few inches around their shapely heads.
One of them says something in their alien tongue, and the other two laugh. They approach a relatively clean table, which is immediately vacated by a small crowd of gnomes, and perhaps a few halflings as well. Their movement seems to break the spell, and dark mutterings fill the room. Turning in annoyance, one of the drow turns and, speaking a soft word, twists his hand into an arcane shape in the air. The lights seem to dim, the fire die a little, and the chill night air from without seems to find every crack and loose floorboard. Seemingly more comfortable, the drow return to a quiet discussion amongst themselves. The dark mutterings turn to a few jeering calls, which are promptly ignored.
Barak, the Inkeep, Barman, and owner of the Golden Horn (the very same establishment in which you now sit), approaches with a tray of Ales. Setting his load on the table, he begins to unload, bringing over a few loaves of bread as well. One of the drow, with a dismissive gesture, knocks one of the tankards over, spilling its contents onto his beard. In a gravelly and harshly accented voice, he whispers, "Wine." The word carries through the room like a gunshot. Several gasps can be heard as the tankard hits the floor, chipping on one side. Barak visibly swells in fury but, biting his tongue, nods and replies, "At once, lord." Turning away, you can see from your position that his hands have turned to a beet red, and that the tray is beginning to splinter along the middle as his great muscles flex with wrath.
While considerably more subdued than before, the band strikes up again, and most return to their drinks, content to shoot concerned and vicious glances over at the drow, who continue to laugh and talk as if unaware of the rest of the tavern-goers.
After serving the drow several flagons of fine wine, Barak approaches your table. He continues wiping his beard with a dishtowel, and, as he brings over more bread and honey-yellow wheel of cheese, softly speaks. "Sorry you had to see that. I've heard of Drow officers visiting other taverns in the Lowlands 'round here. Best not to cross them. Me cousin did. Havn't heard from him since." He wrings his hands together. "Seein' as you aren't from around, I ask that you don't make a scene tonight. Just... remember." He turns away, but suddenly wrinkles his brow, as if considering a new thought.
"Say, you there. Tall one - you wouldn' happen to be named Sereena The Pious, would'ya?"
“I would be the one. Is there something you needed? And I will keep quiet tonight, by the grace of Ilmater. There will be no scene on my part.”
There would be no profit in causing a sscene. You’ll have none from us good ssir. Sully smiles coldly. You briefly see his sharp canines as he leans back in his chair
There would be no profit in causing a sscene. You’ll have none from us good ssir. Sully smiles coldly. You briefly see his sharp canines as he leans back in his chair
Curious as to what the Drow did to dim the atmosphere Gadus racks his memory (Arcana: 9).
Gadus leans back in his seat as Barak returns, soaking in the exchange between the tavern master and Sereena. Something about how the barkeep went from asking the group to not cause a scene to addressing the largest person at the table felt off to the caster. Gadus focuses in on Barak as he continues his discussion with Sereena, trying to suss out the intention of his personalized questioning and what his inevitable conclusion will be before he speaks it (Insight: 4).
OoC: how did Gadus' familiar not see the drow as they approached?
Anansi flips up the hood on his coat, hiding his blond locks. "Aye, there will be no quarrel tonight. Unfortunate." The last word is said very quietly and those at the table can see that he has his hand on the hilt of a sheathed dagger.
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
(Gadus's mental rummaging turns no results, though you recall a vague footnote in a particularly dusty old tome that alluded to the possibility that different cultures zealously guarded unique practices of magic, forbidden to be shown or taught to outsiders. The particular reference of the note escapes you, though this seems to be a prime example of its subject matter. Your familiar is apologetic, but reports only extreme darkness without - like as seen during the nights of a new moon.)
Barak, wringing his hands, nods appreciatively. "Good, good. That'll be good, then. I ask of your name only because I was told to keep a lookout for you. Tall lady, sign of Ilmater. Not many other details come to think of it, but seein' as Ilmater has no temple - beggin' yer pardon - here, I figured I'd ask. You'll be wantin to meet Mr. Redrickson, I've no doubt. Come and see me once most of these lot have cleared - "
A sudden spitting sound rips across the floor. One of the Drow (to the left of the speaker) wipes his mouth on his dark sleeve, leaving a wide red stain on the floor. He says something to the speaker, who, with a malicious grin, motions to Barak.
"Come."
16, 19
A cry of indignation dies on his lips as he suddenly goes, sweat breaking out on his face once again as he takes a step. Then, with an audible crack, something in the air between him and the speaker seems to break, leaving the dwarf panting, but stubbornly planted on his feet. The Drow twists his head, his smile of simple pleasure at another's expected discomfort turning to something a little more sinister. He stands. His compatriots do the same, along with about half of the remaining customers at the bar. Several of them seem to be fingering a variety of blunt and bladed weapons hidden on their person.
"Proclamation 31 - willful disregard of a direct command. You will come with us. Now."
A quick patter of footsteps and, before any can react, a gnome slips by and drops to his knees, using his full bodyweight to drive a wooden stake through the speaker's calf. Even as he lets out a shout of surprise and pain, the gnome somersaults backwards, landing on a table and, with a flourishing gesture, speaks a word that is at once clearly heard and entirely indecipherable. A glowing, golden rune appears on his forehead, reflected in his bright, glassy eyes. Immediately thick brambles begin to grow out of the stake, twisting up his legs and through the floorboards beneath. In a breath's span, a 5t square area around where the drow are standing is covered in barbed vines, twisting and holding them in place.
We will now be rolling initiative. If you wish to exclude yourself from the combat, take 1 action's worth of movement to position yourself where you hope to avoid normal combat. Otherwise, roll initiative.
Drow Speaker: 13
Drow Guards: 5
Barak: 7
Tavern Brawlers:4
Salazar sighs and stands up Can’t conduct business if you keep cursing the locals you cretin.
initiative 14