You find yourself looking out the lead pained window, into the distance. You see storm clouds brewing, carrion gathering before a clash of blades. Below you, there is the loud sound of lyre music being played. The clinking of tankards and laughter fills the air as people go about their evening. A shiver fills the air as wind begins to gust, clacking the shutters against the side of the inn. The fire pops loudly, shooting small embers against the metal grate.
You have found yourself in the small village of Brasi upon the first day of spring. Below, the villagers are celebrating both the first day of spring and the marriage of the bar keep's daughter. As the sunlight dims, you hear the ripple of thunder as a blanket of rain cascades down. Mead and beer flow freely, the sound of merriment and laughter almost down out the sound of the rain.
Strife is at the bar drinking his share of mead. Congratulating the bar keeper and his family on their big day. My people say rain is a good thing on a wedding day, good rain showers bring about bumper crops and beautiful flowers!
Jinara is down in the bar as well sitting at a booth by himself with a tankard on the table, seemingly untouched, starring out into the rain. The enjoyment of the celebration occurs all around him as he watches the storm roll in.
Lia sits along one wall, looking out through the window to see the storm approaching. The sound of the shutter banging against the wall outside the window picks up as the wind comes in. Turning away she hears the comment about rain being good for weddings and has to bite back an amused chuckle. She brushes some snow-white hair behind a slightly-pointed ear as she looks around the common room a bit more closely. Her emerald eyes miss little as she scans the faces around the chamber.
The barkeep is a boisterous balding human male, who's shoulder are high and his neck is short. He chuckles, "Rain is a wonderful thing, hopefully it will bring about many fruits this fall." He smiles and tops off a glass. His daughter is in the corner with the main wedding party, a young beautiful woman with a soft face and flowing blonde hair, sitting next to a lanky lad near her age, his face dotted with scars from the ache of his youth, a smile spread widely across both of their faces.
Strife laughs along with the barkeep, Ah yes, maybe even some fruitful grandchildren for you spoil? He winks over the wedding party if they can hear him.
The bar keep chuckles heartly, his rotund belly jiggling as he does, "One could only hope. What brings you to our small village?" He takes a rag and wipes some split beer off of the rough wooden countertop.
In the corner a group of adolescents are laughing and chatting among themselves before one breaks away to ask a girl to dance. The music picks up in tune and pace as the center of the inn is cleared for dancing. The villagers lining the walls as more people break away. A human sits near Lia, "I hope this table isn't taken and that I'm not going to bother you, miss."
I am traveling Minstrel and adventurer, my good sir. I enjoy traveling and meeting new folk such as yourself. Happened upon this town and heard there was going to be a celebration! Could pass up such an opportunity, I rarely get to celebrate like this.
The human nods and returns a smile, "Liam is a good kid, and Casandra has her mother's beauty. They'll make a good couple." He pauses, "Excuse my manners, my name is Quinnil, my lady." He turns to face Lia; he is a scruffy individual with a long thick beard, his face framed in by long brown hair.
The barkeep nods in approval, "Alas, I would pay you to play but all my coin has been spent. You might find better luck in Carvel, peoples there are always gettin married n such." He pours a tankard of mead and slides it forward across the bar.
Jinara's long daze out the window is broken as the music changes and people come out to dance. He picks up his tankards and downs it in what seems like one big gulp. He gets up and makes his way out the outside of the dance area to the corner of the bar, waiting for the attention of the barkeep for a refill.
The barkeep turns his attention to Jinara and smiles, "Mead or Ale, sir?" He shuffles down towards Jinara's end of the bar, the floor boards creaking softly with each step. He picks up the tankard, awaiting a response.
Quinnil nods, "Well met indeed, Lia." He takes a long draught from his glass before setting it down softly, "Lots of new faces around here, and what brings yours here?" The bride stands, pulling her groom up with her, leading him out to the dance floor.
"Ale, but if you have anything stronger, I wouldn't say no." Jinara says. His voice a bit scruffy/raspy. The barkeep sees a man of elvish descent with light brown hair loosely hanging down over his pointed ears. His cheek bones are prominent, but it does not impact the vision of his unique eyes. One sapphire blue with an ever-so-slight hint of emerald dancing in the light of the tavern. The other, a garnet red with the same reflective nature but this time black like onyx. His chin covered in a scruff that would be considered a beard for elvish folk (even though elves rarely have facial hair). He looks over to the human the barkeep left and gives a nod and raises his tankard in direction.
The barkeep nods, "Aye, I've got some harder liquor." He grabs a brown bottle from below the counter, making a soft pop sound as he pulls the cork from it. The liquid laps from it as he tilts it, draining some into Jinara's tankard. He re-corks it and slides it back beneath the bar, "Is there anything else I can get for ye, sir? Some food mayhaps?" The barkeep looks at him sheepishly, a rosy glow kissing the man's face.
Coming down the stairs Senenir mumbles surprised to himself a bit, "That's a lot of people." He moves to the bar and sits down next to Jinara looking around the room. Nodding to the elven looking man he growls to the bartender in a deep resonant tone "Ale please" Anyone who gets a good look at him sees a tall figure covered in a mottled greed cloak. The hood is pulled low over his eyes and under it, you can barely make out a greenly tinted skin. Looking a bit closer one would see that what originally appears like a well-built powerful figure is actually much skinnier and lither than expected. He keeps his head down and waits for the bartender trying not to draw attention to himself.
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“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
The barkeep nods, grabbing a tin tankard from a rack behind the bad. He shuffles over to the a barrel and turns the spigot, ale flowing into the glass, forming a foamy head as it fills. He shuffles back over to the bar and sets in in front of Senenir, gingerly sliding it forward, "Evenin, Master Senenir, hope my daughter's weddin party ain't bother you nun."
“Mostly just passing through.” Lia says to Quinnil. “You a local then?” She is more in the common room to watch the people and has no drink in front of her.
Strafe flashes a big toothy grin to the newcomer and moves stand next to him. You wouldn't by chance mind a drink partner would you? He slaps his hands on pants to make they are somewhat dry clean and sticks his hand out for a shake. My name is Strife, how about you?
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You find yourself looking out the lead pained window, into the distance. You see storm clouds brewing, carrion gathering before a clash of blades. Below you, there is the loud sound of lyre music being played. The clinking of tankards and laughter fills the air as people go about their evening. A shiver fills the air as wind begins to gust, clacking the shutters against the side of the inn. The fire pops loudly, shooting small embers against the metal grate.
You have found yourself in the small village of Brasi upon the first day of spring. Below, the villagers are celebrating both the first day of spring and the marriage of the bar keep's daughter. As the sunlight dims, you hear the ripple of thunder as a blanket of rain cascades down. Mead and beer flow freely, the sound of merriment and laughter almost down out the sound of the rain.
Strife is at the bar drinking his share of mead. Congratulating the bar keeper and his family on their big day. My people say rain is a good thing on a wedding day, good rain showers bring about bumper crops and beautiful flowers!
Jinara is down in the bar as well sitting at a booth by himself with a tankard on the table, seemingly untouched, starring out into the rain. The enjoyment of the celebration occurs all around him as he watches the storm roll in.
Lia sits along one wall, looking out through the window to see the storm approaching. The sound of the shutter banging against the wall outside the window picks up as the wind comes in. Turning away she hears the comment about rain being good for weddings and has to bite back an amused chuckle. She brushes some snow-white hair behind a slightly-pointed ear as she looks around the common room a bit more closely. Her emerald eyes miss little as she scans the faces around the chamber.
The barkeep is a boisterous balding human male, who's shoulder are high and his neck is short. He chuckles, "Rain is a wonderful thing, hopefully it will bring about many fruits this fall." He smiles and tops off a glass. His daughter is in the corner with the main wedding party, a young beautiful woman with a soft face and flowing blonde hair, sitting next to a lanky lad near her age, his face dotted with scars from the ache of his youth, a smile spread widely across both of their faces.
Strife laughs along with the barkeep, Ah yes, maybe even some fruitful grandchildren for you spoil? He winks over the wedding party if they can hear him.
The bar keep chuckles heartly, his rotund belly jiggling as he does, "One could only hope. What brings you to our small village?" He takes a rag and wipes some split beer off of the rough wooden countertop.
In the corner a group of adolescents are laughing and chatting among themselves before one breaks away to ask a girl to dance. The music picks up in tune and pace as the center of the inn is cleared for dancing. The villagers lining the walls as more people break away. A human sits near Lia, "I hope this table isn't taken and that I'm not going to bother you, miss."
"Not one bit." Lia says with a smile for the human. "Seems like the couple is happy." She comments, nodding in the direction of the smiling pair.
I am traveling Minstrel and adventurer, my good sir. I enjoy traveling and meeting new folk such as yourself. Happened upon this town and heard there was going to be a celebration! Could pass up such an opportunity, I rarely get to celebrate like this.
The human nods and returns a smile, "Liam is a good kid, and Casandra has her mother's beauty. They'll make a good couple." He pauses, "Excuse my manners, my name is Quinnil, my lady." He turns to face Lia; he is a scruffy individual with a long thick beard, his face framed in by long brown hair.
The barkeep nods in approval, "Alas, I would pay you to play but all my coin has been spent. You might find better luck in Carvel, peoples there are always gettin married n such." He pours a tankard of mead and slides it forward across the bar.
"Well met Quinnil." Lia says with a nod of her head. "I am Lia."
Jinara's long daze out the window is broken as the music changes and people come out to dance. He picks up his tankards and downs it in what seems like one big gulp. He gets up and makes his way out the outside of the dance area to the corner of the bar, waiting for the attention of the barkeep for a refill.
The barkeep turns his attention to Jinara and smiles, "Mead or Ale, sir?" He shuffles down towards Jinara's end of the bar, the floor boards creaking softly with each step. He picks up the tankard, awaiting a response.
Quinnil nods, "Well met indeed, Lia." He takes a long draught from his glass before setting it down softly, "Lots of new faces around here, and what brings yours here?" The bride stands, pulling her groom up with her, leading him out to the dance floor.
"
"Ale, but if you have anything stronger, I wouldn't say no." Jinara says. His voice a bit scruffy/raspy. The barkeep sees a man of elvish descent with light brown hair loosely hanging down over his pointed ears. His cheek bones are prominent, but it does not impact the vision of his unique eyes. One sapphire blue with an ever-so-slight hint of emerald dancing in the light of the tavern. The other, a garnet red with the same reflective nature but this time black like onyx. His chin covered in a scruff that would be considered a beard for elvish folk (even though elves rarely have facial hair). He looks over to the human the barkeep left and gives a nod and raises his tankard in direction.
The barkeep nods, "Aye, I've got some harder liquor." He grabs a brown bottle from below the counter, making a soft pop sound as he pulls the cork from it. The liquid laps from it as he tilts it, draining some into Jinara's tankard. He re-corks it and slides it back beneath the bar, "Is there anything else I can get for ye, sir? Some food mayhaps?" The barkeep looks at him sheepishly, a rosy glow kissing the man's face.
Coming down the stairs Senenir mumbles surprised to himself a bit, "That's a lot of people." He moves to the bar and sits down next to Jinara looking around the room. Nodding to the elven looking man he growls to the bartender in a deep resonant tone "Ale please" Anyone who gets a good look at him sees a tall figure covered in a mottled greed cloak. The hood is pulled low over his eyes and under it, you can barely make out a greenly tinted skin. Looking a bit closer one would see that what originally appears like a well-built powerful figure is actually much skinnier and lither than expected. He keeps his head down and waits for the bartender trying not to draw attention to himself.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
The barkeep nods, grabbing a tin tankard from a rack behind the bad. He shuffles over to the a barrel and turns the spigot, ale flowing into the glass, forming a foamy head as it fills. He shuffles back over to the bar and sets in in front of Senenir, gingerly sliding it forward, "Evenin, Master Senenir, hope my daughter's weddin party ain't bother you nun."
"No." Senenir takes the glass as he continues, "The wedding was pretty." He keeps his head down as he talks and slowly begins to sip his drink.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
“Mostly just passing through.” Lia says to Quinnil. “You a local then?” She is more in the common room to watch the people and has no drink in front of her.
Strafe flashes a big toothy grin to the newcomer and moves stand next to him. You wouldn't by chance mind a drink partner would you? He slaps his hands on pants to make they are somewhat dry clean and sticks his hand out for a shake. My name is Strife, how about you?