You are all traveling from Baldur's Gate east towards Sembia in a caravan sponsored by a wealthy merchant guild. The journey is a long and arduous one, traveling overland through Elturgard to Iriaebor, and then on through the Storm Horns and winding your way into Cormyr and then on to Selgaunt in Sembia. You have picked up goods in Iriaebor and are on your way through the Storm Lords. The caravan is a relatively large one, and making camp involves setting up campfires and rotations for guard duty - a logistical nightmare, but run well by a stern dwarf named Ruddy.
However, for reasons beyond understanding, the stars have aligned in such a way that you 5 find yourselves sitting around the same campfire, eating the same meal, prepared by the caravan chef, in the same part of Faerun. You may have noticed each other before on the journey or you may be relatively new to the caravan, but THIS is the first time you have actually had time together in this particular composition of people. Most members of the caravan move around to different campfires, trading stories and talking, singing songs, and then move on to a new group every few days. There are a variety of people traveling in the caravan - altogether you'd say anywhere from 40-50 people. This number includes guards, merchants, drivers and other supply train workers.
As the sun sets on the craggy tops of the Storm Lord Mountains, you grab your ration for this evening and take a seat at the campfire you've prepared. The warm day in the lowlands has given way to a bit of a chill up here and though the wind is not strong, there is a hint of winter felt within. Off in the distance, you here a wolf howl - a common occurrence for the area, though they usually wait for full darkness to fall before starting the opera. As you slurp your first spoonfuls of potatoes, gravy, and goat stew, you look up at those around you...
Welcome to the Death House Adventure!
Please take this time to introduce yourselves however you like - how you got here, why you're in this caravan, what forces have drawn you to this point, etc...You can decide to reveal as little or as much about yourself as you want.
Here is the overview map - the red dots are the current path. The red X is where your adventure begins in the Storm Lords.
Sitting at the fire with his now finished bowl is a man that looks to be in his early to mid forties, lighting a smoking pipe that he produces from the side of his pack. He appears to be rather average looking, standing just shy of 6 feet with slightly pale skin that is contrasted by his grey peppered black hair and goatee. Much like the rest of his clothes are well tailored and made for comfort on top of practically, a set of well fitting leather armor over this with a rapier and two daggers finishing this.
Finishing with the lighting of his pipe, Bertolt relaxes in his seat and takes a small drag from it as he looks over the others. His eyes will scan over each for now more then a scant few seconds but it is clear it is a very close and inquisitive glance. "This is an interesting arrangement I must say, much different then the stone walls of a tower or the warm hearth of a fine tavern."
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Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Talion laughs at Bertolt’s comment, an easy smile on his face, “This, my friend…” he says, waving his arms at the mountain peaks. “This is freedom! I have waited my entire life to finally escape the prison they call Baldur’s Gate.”
He breathes in the fresh mountain air, clearly relishing it, then finishes in more sombre tones, “and I will only return when I choose.”
He turns back to Berthold, "So...sing us a song of the mountains, old man! I have heard you sing many times before, and it is always a joy."
Talion appears young; perhaps in his early-mid twenties. His braided blond hair, ready smile, and green eyes are hard to miss in a group. But after interacting with him over the past days you realize that his eyes sometimes speak of a greater age – a cynicism, an edge, perhaps even a darkness, that lurks within him. Perhaps that is part of his evident appeal among the humans of his age.
He wears serviceable clothes and, on occasion, gaudy stage jewelry, reminding one of someone who hopes for wealth and likes to display the little he has. But, despite this vain foible of youth, he always seems approachable and willing to help in the work around camp after a long day. From the first day of the journey, he has made a point of getting to know everyone’s name, and seems to remember the little details, making each successive conversation easier.
Sitting around the campfire at night he is happy to regale people with tales of a misspent youth in the city – some of his tales seem very far-fetched – and it is on these occasions that you occasionally see the signs of something darker else in his eyes. He spends as much time, if not more, in drawing tales from others, and is an eager listener.
Physical Description:
6’1”, 170lb Green eyes Long (dark) blonde (straw coloured?) haid, usually braided at the front Slightly tanned complexin
He carries a crossbow and two daggers are clearly visible on the bandolier across his chest. He wears light armour with his travel clothes, and is usually wearing some form of jewellery, in his hair (usually to tie it), ear(s) and fingers.
Bertolt gives the younger men a pointed look shaking his head as he takes another drag from his pipe. "Now is not the time for singing. I will perhaps be in the mood to do so once I am finished with my pipe. It has been many days since I have simply had the time to enjoy such a simple pleasure. Perhaps instead you should tell us a tale of your adventures. I can tell you have seen many more interesting things than I have as my face is usually buried in a book or some other scholarly activity."
With the words done with he goes back to his pipe curiously regarding the other man as it seems his interest has been piqued.
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Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Those who travel the backroads and frequent the forgotten villages of the Realms may have heard of Onyx - the orphan boy who took up a sword to defend his temple of Lathander. They, however, would not expect what Onyx looks like - a grizzled, road-worn man, a far cry from the youthful "Hero of Sunweal Temple." He is of average human height and of a hale constitution, bearing a receding, dark brown hairline, short but thick beard, and bright blue eyes that match the trim on his off-white tabard. He is clearly well-prepared for combat, clad in a chain hauberk and two plate gauntlets that rise to his pauldrons. A particularly obsessed observer might realize that he has never been seen without them.
During the journey so far, he has consistently offered his assistance to anyone who he thinks might possibly need it - even just a little. More than one traveler has grown annoyed by his insistent helpfulness. Presumably he is a paid assistant for the caravan. Nobody would be that annoying without being paid for it.
He's one of the last to sit at the campfire, awkwardly scanning the surroundings for danger before finally plopping himself down to eat. His eyes flick to the two men as they talked.
"You two seem to get on well. Do you know reach other?"
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Attending Academy until November, slowdown in posts continue.
Talion seems disappointed, and looks back in the direction of the city, “My adventures you say?They began about a week ago, but...I don’t think that’s what you meant, eh?” he says with a smile, turning back to Berthold.
“My...my brother and I...we had some fun times amid the gloom. It was hard you see, our parents were no help and we fended for ourselves on the street. The two of us: alone but together.”
“He was the clever one, my brother, not the perfect physical specimen you see before you today -- neither was I back then, mind you -- but he would come up with the most outlandish plans, and I...well...I was the one who carried them out flawlessly!”
He lowers his voice a little, “There was a time when someone we knew...and enemy…a powerful enemy, who I will not name...was in in the lockup, awaiting transport to a more...permanent...facility.”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the inside of any lockups, but for some, the richer the area the weaker the lockup. Mostly for rich drunks. Our target was in one of those.”
“I must have been eight, or maybe nine years old. My brother was older, and even then had some magic. Well...he came up with a plan: ‘Favours’ he told me, ‘Favours, they are what the world it about, Talion. Who owes what, and to whom’. He reasoned that if we saved this person from their fate, we would have some valuable coinage. And he was right.”
“I used to be able to crawl into the tightest spaces, I see well in the dark, and my brother...well...he had talents that are his to disclose.”
He pauses, lost in his own memories, then glances around the fire, “Well, I don’t want to give too much away, but...we succeeded, and that was our first big break, and my first insight into what life was really all about: 'Who owes what and to whom'.”
At the finish of his tale he just stares into the fire, remembering, a grim smile on his lips.
"You two seem to get on well. Do you know reach other?"
Talion glances at Berhold, "No...well..****y by the glorious music he has played these last few days" he says, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly at the old man, then looking to his lute suggestively.
Giving up, his attention returns to Onyx. "And how are things with you tonight? Camp finally packed and time for you to finally rest?"
Onyx has likely met Talion a few times, they both seem to like helping, perhaps for different reasons.
"No we have only spoken once or twice before this and it was never for more then a few passing words. It is rather unfortunate that it took so long for us to have a conversation." Bertolt explains to Onyx, examining the heavily armored man carefully before his attention returns to Talion as he begins the story. He keeps his face blank as he listens but his eyes show that he is deep in thought.
"I will play in time for now I think we shall trade stories. Now that was quite a mysterious way to tell a story but yes I know of lockups as you say. I must say some I have seen are rather grisly. The one in my own home of Waterdeep was beyond what words are capable of conveying when it comes to horror... I felt bad for some of even the most depraved souls. But enough of such grim things. My own story is much less exciting." He takes a long drag of his pipe before speaking once more.
"I was born to a family of merchants, my father owning several small merchant vessels while my mother served as an advisor to the lords of the city. As for me I left home in my adolescence to study under several great teachers. I was to be a wizard but I found more joy in the ways of the bardic arts. Now that is not to say that I am not knowledgeable about such things. In my time I studied performing, religion and various other things.
Recently though I decided to set out and learn things first hand and to share what I know. I may not have much left time in my prime so I thought to sow whatever wild oats I may have before settling down to perhaps find a wife and have children to pass my learnings onto."
Talion nods at Berthold's story, "A scholar and a noble then. I am not sure I would have left such comforts behind! But we each do what we must" he says.
He turns to Onyx, "And you sir knight...what brings you on this perilous journey? I would have though you also could rest comfortably at home?"
Sitting around the campfire you see a wood elf with a long scar across the left side of his face.He is wearing worn and scarred, slightly dirty leather armor.He appears grim and has his eyes focused on the fire, lost in thought.He notices the others sitting around the fire and the conversation and his attention perks up.
“Interesting tales. I would love to hear more. My name is Erven Aloro.I was told in a dream that I would find companions here to travel with, and here you are." He finishes his goat stew and he takes a dagger at his belt and throws it into the ground, hard at his feet.He picks it up and dusts it off, twirling it in his hands, the point on the tip of his rough finger and then he puts it back away in his belt.The scar on his face glistens in the campfire and he gives a smile and a nod to you all.
You see a dirty blond elf, 5'10", 155 lb, lightly tanned complexion with blue eyes. He has a longbow and two short swords at his side. He holds your gaze, but not for long, quickly looking away, at the fire, at his stew, at his hands. He nervously sets down his bowl of stew and the spoon goes flying up in a near mishap, but quickly the elf catches the spoon and puts it down where it should be, in the bowl. He pulls out his dagger again and begins fiddling with it, spinning it again, then finally relaxing.
Sho Zuan sits by the campfire, his eyes keenly glancing over the others, then quietly resting on whoever is talking. The campfire crackles with wood at night, and a few sparks occasionally jump out of the flames, fall onto the ground and go out under the night and bright starlight. Not far away are another few campfires out also surrounded by people sitting around, after a strenuous day on the road, such a gathering and dining before nightfall has become the norm of the caravan.
The orange flame pulses along the cool night breeze, reflecting shadows on Sho Zuan's face, black contours spreading like vines, illuminating the human's straight nose bridge, dark, deep icy eyes, something in those eyes that flickers and flickers that one cannot catch but wants to peer into. His well-formed features, sculptured, and his long dark hair falls behind him. His forehead wearing a silver circlet with an intricate eye diagram in the middle. Although he is sitting, his tall stature among average humans could be seen from his outstretched legs and long, slender arms, his exquisite features reveal some some sort of elven heritage, though minimal, likely passed down from generations, that has been diluted to the point where no trace exists.
She Zuan keeps a low profile, though he certainly stands out among the crowd, being one of the few clerics in the caravan it is hard not to draw attention, as their long-distance trek often requires some tending to keep going. He doesn't turn away people who come to him for help, even that is not his goal. "A vision," he says, as he finds the elf's dream interesting. He crosses his arms and holds his elbows, his eyes calmly looking at the ground, immersed in memories, "I had one too. Expect I was told to look for knowledge, secrets, remnants of ancient and powerful wisdom passed down. A tome of faith."
Erven looks at all of you in turn. "You all appear quite capable, I am glad that I have found you.Sehanie Moonbow has brought me here, to this place, to be with you tonight.The story of where I am from and what I have become is more complicated though.I find the open woods, the dark and hunting on my own far more comforting, but I will follow her lead and seek your help now.I have fought and lost so much.... I am looking to find the dark ones of this land who make thedead live and move in unnatural ways for their evil purposes and put an end to them.” He looks up to the stars and scans the sky for the moon, smiles, and falls silent.
Talion frowns and shakes his head at the elf's mention of a dream. He looks skeptical. Unihinged, maybe, he looks like he's been through a lot. But when Sho mentions a vision, his eyes widen slightly.
"Now I am feeling out of place here...dreams, visions...an Official Hero", he nods to Onyx, "...and a noble scholar in search of truth, meaning and purpose!"
He shakes his head, "I'm here so I don't have to be there..." he points back to Baldur's Gate. "That, and I need the money" he adds with a smile.
"Do you have any idea how good it feels not to smell that city?" he asks.
"Yes, now I can rest. Lathander has blessed me with good health and vigor. Least I can do is stay up a little later to watch over the caravan."
Onyx offers Talion a warm smile, which he maintains as Berholt spins a tale. Every soul has a story, everybody needed to be heard sometimes. The paladin was more than happy to listen, though he had to try a little harder to follow this particular speaker. The man seemed to know a bit of crime, of song, and of magic.
Then there was the elf, the first to actually, properly introduce himself. Onyx acknowledges the blond man with a nod. 'Erven' seemed the type to prefer a clever fight over a simple match of muscle and steel. In stark contrast to the esoteric, handsome holy man speaking loftily of some tome.
"Ah, nonsense, friend! I'm no hero. I was just the first to pick up the blade. Really, the glory belongs to the men and women who joined me. Simple folk, fighting hardened killers to protect their community.". His gaze drifts back into the flame, recollection of that day coming back to him.
"Madam Renee, for instance, was some 80 years old but I won't forget the sound of the candelabra that she cracked over some sin-soaked skull. You must be well-traveled That tale couldn't have traveled all the way to Baldur's Gate, much less proliferate there. Still, that you've heard at it puts me at a disadvantage. I go by Onyx these days."
He pauses, turning to the wood elf.
"My fair-haired friend, I know you to be Erevan now. But I think everyone else's names are probably worth knowing too, eh?"
One dark eyebrow arches expectantly as he regards the others.
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Attending Academy until November, slowdown in posts continue.
... You must be well-traveled That tale couldn't have traveled all the way to Baldur's Gate, much less proliferate there ...
Talion shakes his head, "This is the furthest I have been in my life!", he says poking the fire with a stick, absorbed by the play of flames.
"So...no...never heard of you" he says looking up from the fire, a grin on his face. "But there are others on the caravan who speak of you with reverence; as a hero. But...as far as I'm concerned...Old Onyx it shall be."
"Visions you say... I cannot say I have experienced such a thing but then as some I have never been particularly been a true servant of the gods. I would have to choose either Ohgma or perhaps we Mystra as the ones I hold in closest regard." Bertolt says before he finally puts his pipe out, letting the last embers fade from it.
" Alas I must also fear that as I have told my own intentions are not so bold, I merely wish to do a few exciting things before the ravages of age fully take me to a point where my days of being able to do such things pass. But I seem to be rambling instead of answering questions, a habit picked up from debating with others you see."He says with a chuckle as he finishes fiddle about with putting us pipe away.
"I do not think I have heard much of any of you I am afraid, merely what others have spoken around the campfires. As I have said I do not leave the walls of Candlekeep often, although I think that I was only kept around there to provide them with music or so some jested. Be that as it may I shall gladly learn of your past deeds and put them to song or even paper if that is what you wish."
Erven smiles at Bertolt and says "Perhaps another time. I will tell you more of my past perhaps as I get to know you better, maybe it would be worthy of a song, but if so it would be a dark one. We don't need to hear that right now. I would like to hear a little tune though, it would lighten my mood. Do you know "The Green Eyes of Mallistari"? I don't mean to put you on the spot, but something lighthearted on this cold night would warm us up..." Erven pokes at the fire with his dagger as well.
As the sun continues its slow decline in the horizon the smells of the camp waft in the slights breeze. After a time, the only light comes from the campfires and the pregnant moon, visible at times through the deepening cloud cover.
Once in a while, pairs of guards pass by, just keeping watch and walking the perimeter. They nod at you as they pass by.
Several peddlers walk by as well, selling beverages and food, trinkets and such.
"My mistake, I should have introduced myself. my name is Sho Zuan."
"The people here still think you are." Sho Zuan smiles and comments on the modesty of the man before him, as Talion had said, he too was not exempt from hearing of Onyx's past heroic deeds during the days of caravan travel, and gushing admiration, drawing respect like a beacon.
Sho Zuan gives a glance at the elf as he mentions the practice of necromancy, which sounds like something from his dark past that he doesn't want to delve upon, and there was no need to pursue. He raises his eyelids as Bertolt tells his story, the well-read scholar from Candlekeep, treking upon the mountains and rivers, the sun and moon a companion, an unwinding narrative on the journey and an invitation to let him record the past tale.
"Please," he politely declined in all sincerity, "do not need to sing the praises of my past, nor do I have a past worth praising. Who am I expect someone lowly and insignificant, merely happen to be walking about in mortal life? Leave the praises for the dead, those who are not given a voice in this world."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"That is a shame but the offer shall stand for any of you. But yes I know that one and several dwarven drinking and battle songs. Most of the songs I know in Elvish are ones that I would prefer to have others playing alongside me. But that should not be to hard of a request." Bertolt carefully takes his lute from a strap on his pack, making sure that it is strung and ready to play. He stands up, moving so he can be seen by the light of the fire. He wants for silence before he begins to play the song for Erven.
Performance: 10
(I have been having terrible rolls lately... I may scream if I roll another low one as it has been several days since I have rolled above a ten...)
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Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
You are all traveling from Baldur's Gate east towards Sembia in a caravan sponsored by a wealthy merchant guild. The journey is a long and arduous one, traveling overland through Elturgard to Iriaebor, and then on through the Storm Horns and winding your way into Cormyr and then on to Selgaunt in Sembia. You have picked up goods in Iriaebor and are on your way through the Storm Lords. The caravan is a relatively large one, and making camp involves setting up campfires and rotations for guard duty - a logistical nightmare, but run well by a stern dwarf named Ruddy.
However, for reasons beyond understanding, the stars have aligned in such a way that you 5 find yourselves sitting around the same campfire, eating the same meal, prepared by the caravan chef, in the same part of Faerun. You may have noticed each other before on the journey or you may be relatively new to the caravan, but THIS is the first time you have actually had time together in this particular composition of people. Most members of the caravan move around to different campfires, trading stories and talking, singing songs, and then move on to a new group every few days. There are a variety of people traveling in the caravan - altogether you'd say anywhere from 40-50 people. This number includes guards, merchants, drivers and other supply train workers.
As the sun sets on the craggy tops of the Storm Lord Mountains, you grab your ration for this evening and take a seat at the campfire you've prepared. The warm day in the lowlands has given way to a bit of a chill up here and though the wind is not strong, there is a hint of winter felt within. Off in the distance, you here a wolf howl - a common occurrence for the area, though they usually wait for full darkness to fall before starting the opera. As you slurp your first spoonfuls of potatoes, gravy, and goat stew, you look up at those around you...
Welcome to the Death House Adventure!
Please take this time to introduce yourselves however you like - how you got here, why you're in this caravan, what forces have drawn you to this point, etc...You can decide to reveal as little or as much about yourself as you want.
Here is the overview map - the red dots are the current path. The red X is where your adventure begins in the Storm Lords.
Ereshion - Talian
DarthDrizzt - Bertolt
Ursus_the_Grim - Onyx
WhiteByakko - Sho
Twombley - Ervan
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
Sitting at the fire with his now finished bowl is a man that looks to be in his early to mid forties, lighting a smoking pipe that he produces from the side of his pack. He appears to be rather average looking, standing just shy of 6 feet with slightly pale skin that is contrasted by his grey peppered black hair and goatee. Much like the rest of his clothes are well tailored and made for comfort on top of practically, a set of well fitting leather armor over this with a rapier and two daggers finishing this.
Finishing with the lighting of his pipe, Bertolt relaxes in his seat and takes a small drag from it as he looks over the others. His eyes will scan over each for now more then a scant few seconds but it is clear it is a very close and inquisitive glance. "This is an interesting arrangement I must say, much different then the stone walls of a tower or the warm hearth of a fine tavern."
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Talion laughs at Bertolt’s comment, an easy smile on his face, “This, my friend…” he says, waving his arms at the mountain peaks. “This is freedom! I have waited my entire life to finally escape the prison they call Baldur’s Gate.”
He breathes in the fresh mountain air, clearly relishing it, then finishes in more sombre tones, “and I will only return when I choose.”
He turns back to Berthold, "So...sing us a song of the mountains, old man! I have heard you sing many times before, and it is always a joy."
Talion appears young; perhaps in his early-mid twenties. His braided blond hair, ready smile, and green eyes are hard to miss in a group. But after interacting with him over the past days you realize that his eyes sometimes speak of a greater age – a cynicism, an edge, perhaps even a darkness, that lurks within him. Perhaps that is part of his evident appeal among the humans of his age.
He wears serviceable clothes and, on occasion, gaudy stage jewelry, reminding one of someone who hopes for wealth and likes to display the little he has. But, despite this vain foible of youth, he always seems approachable and willing to help in the work around camp after a long day. From the first day of the journey, he has made a point of getting to know everyone’s name, and seems to remember the little details, making each successive conversation easier.
Sitting around the campfire at night he is happy to regale people with tales of a misspent youth in the city – some of his tales seem very far-fetched – and it is on these occasions that you occasionally see the signs of something darker else in his eyes. He spends as much time, if not more, in drawing tales from others, and is an eager listener.
Physical Description:
6’1”, 170lb
Green eyes
Long (dark) blonde (straw coloured?) haid, usually braided at the front
Slightly tanned complexin
He carries a crossbow and two daggers are clearly visible on the bandolier across his chest. He wears light armour with his travel clothes, and is usually wearing some form of jewellery, in his hair (usually to tie it), ear(s) and fingers.
Bertolt gives the younger men a pointed look shaking his head as he takes another drag from his pipe. "Now is not the time for singing. I will perhaps be in the mood to do so once I am finished with my pipe. It has been many days since I have simply had the time to enjoy such a simple pleasure. Perhaps instead you should tell us a tale of your adventures. I can tell you have seen many more interesting things than I have as my face is usually buried in a book or some other scholarly activity."
With the words done with he goes back to his pipe curiously regarding the other man as it seems his interest has been piqued.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Those who travel the backroads and frequent the forgotten villages of the Realms may have heard of Onyx - the orphan boy who took up a sword to defend his temple of Lathander. They, however, would not expect what Onyx looks like - a grizzled, road-worn man, a far cry from the youthful "Hero of Sunweal Temple." He is of average human height and of a hale constitution, bearing a receding, dark brown hairline, short but thick beard, and bright blue eyes that match the trim on his off-white tabard. He is clearly well-prepared for combat, clad in a chain hauberk and two plate gauntlets that rise to his pauldrons. A particularly obsessed observer might realize that he has never been seen without them.
During the journey so far, he has consistently offered his assistance to anyone who he thinks might possibly need it - even just a little. More than one traveler has grown annoyed by his insistent helpfulness. Presumably he is a paid assistant for the caravan. Nobody would be that annoying without being paid for it.
He's one of the last to sit at the campfire, awkwardly scanning the surroundings for danger before finally plopping himself down to eat. His eyes flick to the two men as they talked.
"You two seem to get on well. Do you know reach other?"
Attending Academy until November, slowdown in posts continue.
Talion seems disappointed, and looks back in the direction of the city, “My adventures you say? They began about a week ago, but...I don’t think that’s what you meant, eh?” he says with a smile, turning back to Berthold.
“My...my brother and I...we had some fun times amid the gloom. It was hard you see, our parents were no help and we fended for ourselves on the street. The two of us: alone but together.”
“He was the clever one, my brother, not the perfect physical specimen you see before you today -- neither was I back then, mind you -- but he would come up with the most outlandish plans, and I...well...I was the one who carried them out flawlessly!”
He lowers his voice a little, “There was a time when someone we knew...and enemy…a powerful enemy, who I will not name...was in in the lockup, awaiting transport to a more...permanent...facility.”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the inside of any lockups, but for some, the richer the area the weaker the lockup. Mostly for rich drunks. Our target was in one of those.”
“I must have been eight, or maybe nine years old. My brother was older, and even then had some magic. Well...he came up with a plan: ‘Favours’ he told me, ‘Favours, they are what the world it about, Talion. Who owes what, and to whom’. He reasoned that if we saved this person from their fate, we would have some valuable coinage. And he was right.”
“I used to be able to crawl into the tightest spaces, I see well in the dark, and my brother...well...he had talents that are his to disclose.”
He pauses, lost in his own memories, then glances around the fire, “Well, I don’t want to give too much away, but...we succeeded, and that was our first big break, and my first insight into what life was really all about: 'Who owes what and to whom'.”
At the finish of his tale he just stares into the fire, remembering, a grim smile on his lips.
Talion glances at Berhold, "No...well..****y by the glorious music he has played these last few days" he says, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly at the old man, then looking to his lute suggestively.
Giving up, his attention returns to Onyx. "And how are things with you tonight? Camp finally packed and time for you to finally rest?"
Onyx has likely met Talion a few times, they both seem to like helping, perhaps for different reasons.
"No we have only spoken once or twice before this and it was never for more then a few passing words. It is rather unfortunate that it took so long for us to have a conversation." Bertolt explains to Onyx, examining the heavily armored man carefully before his attention returns to Talion as he begins the story. He keeps his face blank as he listens but his eyes show that he is deep in thought.
"I will play in time for now I think we shall trade stories. Now that was quite a mysterious way to tell a story but yes I know of lockups as you say. I must say some I have seen are rather grisly. The one in my own home of Waterdeep was beyond what words are capable of conveying when it comes to horror... I felt bad for some of even the most depraved souls. But enough of such grim things. My own story is much less exciting." He takes a long drag of his pipe before speaking once more.
"I was born to a family of merchants, my father owning several small merchant vessels while my mother served as an advisor to the lords of the city. As for me I left home in my adolescence to study under several great teachers. I was to be a wizard but I found more joy in the ways of the bardic arts. Now that is not to say that I am not knowledgeable about such things. In my time I studied performing, religion and various other things.
Recently though I decided to set out and learn things first hand and to share what I know. I may not have much left time in my prime so I thought to sow whatever wild oats I may have before settling down to perhaps find a wife and have children to pass my learnings onto."
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Talion nods at Berthold's story, "A scholar and a noble then. I am not sure I would have left such comforts behind! But we each do what we must" he says.
He turns to Onyx, "And you sir knight...what brings you on this perilous journey? I would have though you also could rest comfortably at home?"
Sitting around the campfire you see a wood elf with a long scar across the left side of his face. He is wearing worn and scarred, slightly dirty leather armor. He appears grim and has his eyes focused on the fire, lost in thought. He notices the others sitting around the fire and the conversation and his attention perks up.
“Interesting tales. I would love to hear more. My name is Erven Aloro. I was told in a dream that I would find companions here to travel with, and here you are." He finishes his goat stew and he takes a dagger at his belt and throws it into the ground, hard at his feet. He picks it up and dusts it off, twirling it in his hands, the point on the tip of his rough finger and then he puts it back away in his belt. The scar on his face glistens in the campfire and he gives a smile and a nod to you all.
You see a dirty blond elf, 5'10", 155 lb, lightly tanned complexion with blue eyes. He has a longbow and two short swords at his side. He holds your gaze, but not for long, quickly looking away, at the fire, at his stew, at his hands. He nervously sets down his bowl of stew and the spoon goes flying up in a near mishap, but quickly the elf catches the spoon and puts it down where it should be, in the bowl. He pulls out his dagger again and begins fiddling with it, spinning it again, then finally relaxing.
Sho Zuan sits by the campfire, his eyes keenly glancing over the others, then quietly resting on whoever is talking. The campfire crackles with wood at night, and a few sparks occasionally jump out of the flames, fall onto the ground and go out under the night and bright starlight. Not far away are another few campfires out also surrounded by people sitting around, after a strenuous day on the road, such a gathering and dining before nightfall has become the norm of the caravan.
The orange flame pulses along the cool night breeze, reflecting shadows on Sho Zuan's face, black contours spreading like vines, illuminating the human's straight nose bridge, dark, deep icy eyes, something in those eyes that flickers and flickers that one cannot catch but wants to peer into. His well-formed features, sculptured, and his long dark hair falls behind him. His forehead wearing a silver circlet with an intricate eye diagram in the middle. Although he is sitting, his tall stature among average humans could be seen from his outstretched legs and long, slender arms, his exquisite features reveal some some sort of elven heritage, though minimal, likely passed down from generations, that has been diluted to the point where no trace exists.
She Zuan keeps a low profile, though he certainly stands out among the crowd, being one of the few clerics in the caravan it is hard not to draw attention, as their long-distance trek often requires some tending to keep going. He doesn't turn away people who come to him for help, even that is not his goal. "A vision," he says, as he finds the elf's dream interesting. He crosses his arms and holds his elbows, his eyes calmly looking at the ground, immersed in memories, "I had one too. Expect I was told to look for knowledge, secrets, remnants of ancient and powerful wisdom passed down. A tome of faith."
Erven looks at all of you in turn. "You all appear quite capable, I am glad that I have found you. Sehanie Moonbow has brought me here, to this place, to be with you tonight. The story of where I am from and what I have become is more complicated though. I find the open woods, the dark and hunting on my own far more comforting, but I will follow her lead and seek your help now. I have fought and lost so much.... I am looking to find the dark ones of this land who make the dead live and move in unnatural ways for their evil purposes and put an end to them.” He looks up to the stars and scans the sky for the moon, smiles, and falls silent.
Talion frowns and shakes his head at the elf's mention of a dream. He looks skeptical. Unihinged, maybe, he looks like he's been through a lot. But when Sho mentions a vision, his eyes widen slightly.
"Now I am feeling out of place here...dreams, visions...an Official Hero", he nods to Onyx, "...and a noble scholar in search of truth, meaning and purpose!"
He shakes his head, "I'm here so I don't have to be there..." he points back to Baldur's Gate. "That, and I need the money" he adds with a smile.
"Do you have any idea how good it feels not to smell that city?" he asks.
"Yes, now I can rest. Lathander has blessed me with good health and vigor. Least I can do is stay up a little later to watch over the caravan."
Onyx offers Talion a warm smile, which he maintains as Berholt spins a tale. Every soul has a story, everybody needed to be heard sometimes. The paladin was more than happy to listen, though he had to try a little harder to follow this particular speaker. The man seemed to know a bit of crime, of song, and of magic.
Then there was the elf, the first to actually, properly introduce himself. Onyx acknowledges the blond man with a nod. 'Erven' seemed the type to prefer a clever fight over a simple match of muscle and steel. In stark contrast to the esoteric, handsome holy man speaking loftily of some tome.
"Ah, nonsense, friend! I'm no hero. I was just the first to pick up the blade. Really, the glory belongs to the men and women who joined me. Simple folk, fighting hardened killers to protect their community.". His gaze drifts back into the flame, recollection of that day coming back to him.
"Madam Renee, for instance, was some 80 years old but I won't forget the sound of the candelabra that she cracked over some sin-soaked skull. You must be well-traveled That tale couldn't have traveled all the way to Baldur's Gate, much less proliferate there. Still, that you've heard at it puts me at a disadvantage. I go by Onyx these days."
He pauses, turning to the wood elf.
"My fair-haired friend, I know you to be Erevan now. But I think everyone else's names are probably worth knowing too, eh?"
One dark eyebrow arches expectantly as he regards the others.
Attending Academy until November, slowdown in posts continue.
Talion shakes his head, "This is the furthest I have been in my life!", he says poking the fire with a stick, absorbed by the play of flames.
"So...no...never heard of you" he says looking up from the fire, a grin on his face. "But there are others on the caravan who speak of you with reverence; as a hero. But...as far as I'm concerned...Old Onyx it shall be."
"Visions you say... I cannot say I have experienced such a thing but then as some I have never been particularly been a true servant of the gods. I would have to choose either Ohgma or perhaps we Mystra as the ones I hold in closest regard." Bertolt says before he finally puts his pipe out, letting the last embers fade from it.
" Alas I must also fear that as I have told my own intentions are not so bold, I merely wish to do a few exciting things before the ravages of age fully take me to a point where my days of being able to do such things pass. But I seem to be rambling instead of answering questions, a habit picked up from debating with others you see." He says with a chuckle as he finishes fiddle about with putting us pipe away.
"I do not think I have heard much of any of you I am afraid, merely what others have spoken around the campfires. As I have said I do not leave the walls of Candlekeep often, although I think that I was only kept around there to provide them with music or so some jested. Be that as it may I shall gladly learn of your past deeds and put them to song or even paper if that is what you wish."
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Erven smiles at Bertolt and says "Perhaps another time. I will tell you more of my past perhaps as I get to know you better, maybe it would be worthy of a song, but if so it would be a dark one. We don't need to hear that right now. I would like to hear a little tune though, it would lighten my mood. Do you know "The Green Eyes of Mallistari"? I don't mean to put you on the spot, but something lighthearted on this cold night would warm us up..." Erven pokes at the fire with his dagger as well.
As the sun continues its slow decline in the horizon the smells of the camp waft in the slights breeze. After a time, the only light comes from the campfires and the pregnant moon, visible at times through the deepening cloud cover.
Once in a while, pairs of guards pass by, just keeping watch and walking the perimeter. They nod at you as they pass by.
Several peddlers walk by as well, selling beverages and food, trinkets and such.
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
"My mistake, I should have introduced myself. my name is Sho Zuan."
"The people here still think you are." Sho Zuan smiles and comments on the modesty of the man before him, as Talion had said, he too was not exempt from hearing of Onyx's past heroic deeds during the days of caravan travel, and gushing admiration, drawing respect like a beacon.
Sho Zuan gives a glance at the elf as he mentions the practice of necromancy, which sounds like something from his dark past that he doesn't want to delve upon, and there was no need to pursue. He raises his eyelids as Bertolt tells his story, the well-read scholar from Candlekeep, treking upon the mountains and rivers, the sun and moon a companion, an unwinding narrative on the journey and an invitation to let him record the past tale.
"Please," he politely declined in all sincerity, "do not need to sing the praises of my past, nor do I have a past worth praising. Who am I expect someone lowly and insignificant, merely happen to be walking about in mortal life? Leave the praises for the dead, those who are not given a voice in this world."
"That is a shame but the offer shall stand for any of you. But yes I know that one and several dwarven drinking and battle songs. Most of the songs I know in Elvish are ones that I would prefer to have others playing alongside me. But that should not be to hard of a request." Bertolt carefully takes his lute from a strap on his pack, making sure that it is strung and ready to play. He stands up, moving so he can be seen by the light of the fire. He wants for silence before he begins to play the song for Erven.
Performance: 10
(I have been having terrible rolls lately... I may scream if I roll another low one as it has been several days since I have rolled above a ten...)
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)