A trek to Suormpar, the northernmost city in Ulgarth, a small, feudal kingdom that lies in the shadow of the Dustwall Mountains on the eastern shore of Xontuil Bay in The Shining South region of Faerûn, was supposed to be an easy way for you and your companions to make some quick coin. Aside from being one of the easternmost edges of the known lands and thus serving as one of the last bastions of defense from the barbarian hordes to the east, Suormpar is also known for its trade of Fiertallin, a white, chalky substance gathered from the river Xon and exported from the city to the rest of the realm. Fiertallin has become all the rage with nobles along the Sword Coast and Nigel Wellsworth, a minor, but aspiring merchant noble in Waterdeep, has offered you all a hefty sack of coin to make the trek to this southeastern corner of nowhere to secure a load of Fiertallin, circumventing the regular channels of trade in an attempt to make a name for himself. The trip was easy enough for a group of adventurers as accomplished as yourselves. A few skirmishes, a few encounters, but nothing you all couldn't handle. Once in Suormpar, locating the merchant lord's contact was easy enough. The deal secured, awaiting delivery the next morning, you all sat back to enjoy the sights, sounds and intricacies of the city. The easy life.
Of course, in the life of an adventurer, nothing is easy for too long.
Something is amiss in Suormpar, plaguing its citizens and foretelling an even greater danger that looms on the horizon.
The following passage below is an excerpt from the Holy Book of the Acheronian Primer.
"Since the time of Creation and the dawn of war, Lord General Bane - the God of Tyranny, has ruled from the Conqueror's Throne on the plane of Acheron. He is the master of all Acheronians by the Will of His Command, and Ruler of countless souls by the might of his inexhaustible armies - alive, and dead. He is the ruler of the Plane of War for whom thousands of souls are sacrificed every day in the Battle Against Hell. Yet, even in his immortal state, the God of War continues his eternal vigilance. Greatest among his soldiers are the Prime Paladins, bio-engineered holy warriors. But, for all of Acheron's soldiers, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from the nightmares of Hell. To be an Acheronian in such times is to be one among untold millions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable."
ABOUT TWENTY YEARS AGO
The Genesis Chamber technology was masterful, but not perfect - once created, you needed guidance and training to reach Condition Prime. When I was 8, Legion Commander Taetanicus, for the first time, brought me to the Armory and showed me the most magnificent warhammer and shield I had ever seen on a table of pure onyx. Surrounded by my peers and instructors, I had no idea what was happening.
”Strength of Body. Strength of Will. Strength of Courage. These will be your weapons of Conquest. You will know you are ready when you are able to lift these instruments of Glory.”
He slowly gestured to the table, offering for me to pick up the hammer and shield. I tried will all of my strength, tried to concentrate, but was doubtful. The hammer did not budge. I was too weak. He sent me to the Hall Of Iron and spent the rest of the day lifting heavy things in various ways until my body and muscles could no longer. The next day I came back to the Armory with him and, again, he tested me, and once again, I could not lift the hammer and shield from the table. I grunted and got angry, and shot him a mighty scowl and held it. With infinite patience and wisdom he sent me back to the Hall of Iron where, again, I trained and lifted bars of metal until one day I noticed I was getting bigger, stronger, more powerful. The weights became ever so slightly lighter with each passing day, each passing month, each passing year.
When I was 13 I finally lifted the hammer and shield, and the next part of my training began.
A FEW DAYS AGO
Even with my eyes still closed, I could feel the subtlety of the shifting heat from the searing comfortableness of Acheron, my home, to the moist, overbearing humidity of southeast Faerun, a land I had once visited before. Allowing my spirit and body to settle, recovering from the sudden jolt of swapping planes once again, I could hear the waves crash against the shore behind me. It was a beautiful sound and sight, for the wartorn plane of Acheron had no such things.
The song of seagulls, chattering about in the air around - I could hear them again. The grit of sand fills the air, letting me know that I've arrived along the bay of the Great Sea. Excellent. Opening my eyes, I saw that ahead of me lied Suormpar, a part of Faerun new to me. I was right on target - the edge of the western lands. According to the reports - one of the last bastions before the Utter East with its barbarian hordes and exotic locales. I hear the prophetic words of my Legion Commander.
“Something stirs. Something that shouldn’t. Someone who shouldn’t.”
The words still echo in my mind, setting clear my purpose here on Faerun.
“Find. Stop. Succeed.”
Even now, the tone of those words strike an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. Being called to receive orders in person was one of the most glorious events a Prime could recieve - after the Honorable victory and conquest of combat. But this time, however, it wasn’t the commander's overbearing, tyrannical presence I was used to. This time, I detected something else when he spoke. Something I have not heard before in our many such briefings. Something unsettling.
The crowd is lively - groups chatting, friends laughing and beer spilling across the bar as pints are drawn and food is served. The lights are low, flickering in the lamps and dripping wax down from the brassy candelabra's affixed to the walls, warm against the sticky wood and furnishings. A figure weaves between tables, inching through gaps between backs and dodging the occasional wild hand - "Sorry!" - or chair, holding a few drinks aloft in the vain effort of not wasting any - depositing them with no end of relief onto the knotted wood of the table booth at the back of the room. Absently wiping any spill onto her trouser leg, she spins the chair about and straddles it, leaning forward to the rest of the table. The lovingly painted Lute slides across her back some, making an odd shriek of off-notes against the beaded coat but she doesn't seem to care - too busy handing out new drinks and pushing the rest to the middle, out the way.
"The final round, as promised," she says - loudly, to be heard - sipping at her own drink (non-alcoholic, fruity and in any other context, potentially acid coloured). She cocks her head to the side, examining the left overs on a plate across the table, and plucks up some of the last bread. Her face is kind but average, and the most eye catching thing about her is the costume she wears - beautifully beaded and embroidered, and an acquired taste. She grins, human features warping slightly, before stuffing the last of the bread in her mouth. "So where are you folks headed now that we're done, hmmm? I was listening at the bar, and I heard there's some choice game near here - I thought you might be interested Daetris," She looks over towards the Elf, pushing her pint closer pointedly.
Kel leans back in his chair, rubbing his stomach with a taloned hand. "That, my friends, was an excellent meal and an excellent way to wrap up our mission." He says to his companions sitting around the table. A grin is stationed on his face but if you didn't spend time with dragonborn you might wonder if it was a smile or a snarl.
Kel is an imposing figure even without his armor. At almost six and a half feet tall with a muscular build and draconic heritage many people are wary of him. He takes a swig of ale..."Gaming you say?" looking at Agata. "I would be up for some of that!" He says, the firelight reflecting faintly off his blue scales. Kel had enjoyed traveling to Suormpar with his current companions. Everyone was so different! So interesting! He definitely would not mind spending more time with them.
Ada, the young half-elf female, is enjoying the last bites of bread from an exquisite meal. Her long light brown hair is a bit messy but in a sexy sort of way, she's wearing meager adventuring style clothes with a long sleeve white shirt and a hunter green colored dress that nearly reaches to the floor when standing. "That was truly an amazing meal." she says to no-one in particular "if only we could eat that well all the time."
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D&D 5E BEYOND: Ada- Sorceress /Isa- Sorceress / Naris - Oathbreaker Paladin CYBERPUNK RED DISCORD: Isa - Solo 5 / Angel- Solo 5 / Faun- Tech 5 / Raja - Nomad 5 PATHFINDER 2e DISCORD: Crystal - Sorceress
The noise within the tavern is a lot for someone more used to the outdoors. But the company is pleasant, and there’s a free drink ahead of her, so Daetris is placated for the moment. She’s managed to quell the twitching of her ears, at the very least. Dressed in neutrally colored traveling clothes, the young elf leans back in her seat and takes in the crowd yet again, her golden eyes taking note of all the revelry going on. A small smile curls at the corners of her mouth as she watches her traveling companions enjoy themselves and their meal.
The movement as their musically inclined friend returns jars Daetris’ attention back. She flicks her long braid over her shoulder and leans in to grab the pint scooted toward her. “Well, I’m never one to turn down choice game,” she says with a wink at Agata. “I only hope it’s more up my ally than the natural wildlife. If it is, it might be worth my sticking around.”
“Now, see my friends - that’s the ticket! With all those monstrous beasts about the area, I’m sure there’s some work about - flocks harassed, crops eaten, patrols mauled... whatever!” She flaps her hand, unconcerned. “We earn a mint hunting those, and we could eat like this every night,” Agatha cackles and slaps the table top heartily only to pull her hand up and disgustedly flick stray food from her fingers with a groan.
The crowd at the bar side gets louder, and a shout class through the room as an argument builds. She looks over her shoulder distractedly, eyeing the bar and the rest of the busy tavern with a rueful smile building, and turns back with lighter coloured eyes than you remember.
“I should have swung up this side of the coast beforehand,” she grins, sliding her Lute across her shoulders and strumming a triumphant trill as it settles on her knees. “Much more lucrative,” she flares her hands, mindful of the instrument, in a mockery of jazz hands.
“Mystra’s star is in Uruath. What does it mean? Hmmmm, is it here? Tassabryl is so fickle. Are you going to hide behind the trees or clouds tonight? Here, here... annnnd here!”
You see a disheveled dwarf, in a nice cape and carrying a staff, he enters the tavern, looking at the floor. He seems to be tracing lines in the wood, stopping at large knots, and takes a 90 degree turn, and sits down at the your table.
He looks up at you and smiles at each of you in turn. “Hello! My name is Barkas. But you already know that, right? I’m glad to see you here. But we are missing one, aren’t we?” He pauses as all of you look at him for the odd dwarf that he is. He lays a map on the table.
“When will they arrive? Unknown, unknown..... Nonetheless I am thirsty from the road.”He looks around, “Beer, over here please!”He looks down at the dice, he will just observe, not keen to play.
The sound of the tavern door opening revealed another patron. This one was clad in full plate armor that looks like it was made off world, with a sword and shield on her back. A woman, red hair like the fire of a roaring dwarven forge, long, and tied into a loose ponytail, with green eyes like radiant emeralds - alive, and full of life. Her smile was genuine across her face, and she looked around with a childlike wonder. Her armor was the color of yellows and reds, very form fitting, enabling her to be mobile while protected. She moved with the grace and poise of an officer, but did not have an aura of a bully, but a protector. Upon first glance, you feel the urge to know her, to be guarded by her - and only through the aura of sheer presence.
(Misha is about five feet, nine inches tall, her skin tan and hairless from living under a red giant sun. Physically, even though she was wearing armor, beneath Misha had a lean, stone-chiseled physique of a bodybuilder - huge, powerful muscles like steel cables would dance and flex with each move - yet she was curvy, remarkably feminine, and beautiful. A number of scars and blemishes pepper her skin, as if combat, weightlifting, and charisma were her best friends.)
Misha thundered over to the counter and sat down, looking around. The smell of food and drink made her mouth water, and her genetic programming urged her to order something, for to maintain her kind of energy would take a meal indeed.
“Have you been wandering again, Barkas?” they ask him, tired of the same routine that has happened every few nights that he goes out “stargazing.” “Yes, yes, yes, we know of your “mission”. You were awfully good back there with your staff but these fits with your memory must stop. Bloody hell, you’re not going to forget to bathe again now that we have nice rooms? How many times must we hear of this mysterious person who is going to join us? I think you are full of bullshit is what I say. We are here to find the Fiertallin, nothing more, nothing less. For a large sack of gold.”
Barkas holds his head down as the others speak. Rarely so forceful, he pounds his hand on the table and points to the map. “The charts don’t lie. She is coming.” No sooner than the words left his mouth, floating in the air, than an amazing specimen of strength and vitality, with shocking red hair, walks through the door. “And there, she is. Must be. I have never seen so clear of a sign as she....”. Barkas starts to glow at the excitement, almost turning, ethereal for a second, dotted with lights... and it fades.
"Barkas, be at ease my friend, we-" Kel stops short as he catches site of the woman walking into the tavern.
I have never seen so clear of a sign as she.
"She is a sight to see Barkas, that is true." He says as he watches her walk to the counter, her very presence mesmerizing. Shaking his head he snaps out of the enchantment he felt and rises from his chair. Moving with assurance through the crowd he pushes his way towards her. "My lady." He addresses her from behind. "If I may be so bold, I think we have been waiting for you."
Misha turned, facing the source of the greeting. Upon seeing you, her smile seemed to brighten, if that was possible. She twisted in her chair to face him
"Hello, my friend. A Dragonborn - fasceenayteeng! I hef heard of your kind, anxious to know one."her voice wasn't deep, but it wasn't high either. "Tell me. What can Misha do for you on this beautiful day, ah?"she asked, speaking in an accent you couldn't place. (Closest, for narrative reasons, would be Russian.) As she looks at you her eyes pierce into you deeply with a feeling hard to describe, as if with her commanding presence alone could she influence you to serve her, or alongside her. However, right now, she is giving off an aura of calmness, and of curiosity - two friends meeting for the first time.
"Hello, my friend. A Dragonborn - fasceenayteeng! I hef heard of your kind, anxious to know one."her voice wasn't deep, but it wasn't high either."Tell me. What can Misha do for you on this beautiful day, ah?"
"Well, I hope I prove to be a good representation of my race." He says in a friendly voice, a smile on his face. "As for your question, truthfully I'm not sure how you can help us but my friend Barkas"...Kel points to the dwarf..."was very adament that you would be coming, destined to meet with us here, in Suormpar. Would you possibly do us the honor of joining my companions and myself at our table?" He asks, holding out his hand toward the table.
"Well, I hope I prove to be a good representation of my race." He says in a friendly voice, a smile on his face. "By the Will of Bane, eet weel be so."Misha said proudly. "As for your question, truthfully I'm not sure how you can help us but my friend Barkas"...Kel points to the dwarf..."was very adamant that you would be coming, destined to meet with us here, in Suormpar. Would you possibly do us the honor of joining my companions and myself at our table?" He asks, holding out his hand toward the table. "Really! Most amazing news! Eet would be a pleasure, ya."Misha declared, getting up. "I do not beeleef I caught your name?"
"Ah, yes! How remiss of me." He gives a slight bow..."Keldrish Kimbatuul, but please call me Kel, much less of a mouthful. He says and turns to the barkeep. "Please send over another meal and some more ale to our table good sir." He requests, pointing to where they are sitting. "Shall we? I believe Barkas is about to fall out of his seat in anticipation of meeting you."
"Keldrish Kimbatuul, but please call me Kel, much less of a mouthful." "I weel do as you say, Kel. Very nice to meet you. I am Misha!" she says, the proudness in her voice thick. "Shall we? I believe Barkas is about to fall out of his seat in anticipation of meeting you." "You lead. I weel follow, and meet thees Barkas."And Misha stays close behind you, sounding like a walking tank with each step.
“Barkas, if you say something is coming - despite all disbelief - I believe you, yes?” Agata pats him gently on the hand, eyeing the map curiously. “What does this-“ she stops as Barkas speaks, glowing, looking at the door with interest. Not often do you see someone quite literally light up with excitement, after all.
She swivels in her seat, leaning around to see past mostly drunk patrons, and eyes the newcomer (Impressive armour, vivid colours, pretty face, interesting weapons) - eyebrow quirking and canines visible with a chuckle under her breath. “What a sight. Not the most conspicuous...” She watches as their Dragonborn companion rises, and tracks the pair at the bar as people order pints, walking past.
She watches, idly strumming chords on her Lute as she relaxes back into her chair - eyes assessing.
“And you think she is a sign, Barkas?” Agata asks curiously over her shoulder, fingers strumming something curious as the pair at the bar start making their way over. “Bloody big sign. You lot might need to shove up - I don’t think my stool will hold that armour...”
Barkas stands up and moves, makes a place for the new guest to arrive. He is quite literally glowing with excitement. "I don't know what the hell it means, but you are here. I can't wait to meet you. My name is Barkas, Barkas Reedfellow. We are destined to do something great together." He turns and looks at the group, turns back to Misha, smiling as he pulls a tiny pine cone out of his beard, straightening himself ("grooming" himself, after a fashion) and looking at her. "Not quite an angel, but a being from another land. A singularity.." and he turns to the others - "and now we are a multiplicity. I can feel it. We are ready. To do what? How the hell should I know - that's where it gets interesting." He pulls out his notebook, pulls over the charts and starts looking at his scribbles and notes. "I have no clue... but I should...." His voice fades and he starts to go animatedly back to his notes, glancing up at Misha and the whole group from time to time, smiling and nodding.
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"I have no clue... but I should...." His voice fades and he starts to go animatedly back to his notes, glancing up at Misha and the whole group from time to time, smiling and nodding.
"Well, that's that I suppose. Ah, welcome. Agata Wrattfoot, at your service." She stands, bows with a flourish and gestures to the freed seat by Barkas. She stands before Misha very obviously an entertainer; her costume obnoxious and designed to draw the eye, her movements with flair and her Lute pride of place - clearly well loved. She sits back on her chair, leaning into the table indulgently and begins to strum along again - a little jaunty tune to welcome the newcomer.
"Now, not to put too fine a point on it, but are we intending to stay on together for work? Not be presumptuous, but we did work well enough for the caravan and in a new city there is always work for larger groups - and frankly our new friend here does make stunning entrance," Agata points towards the newcomer, nudging the empty drinks out of the way some more invitingly. "I know I mentioned the rumour of game, and our dear friend Ada here has a lifestyle she wishes to accommodate with her magical capability." She stops strumming, stopping the notes with a hand across the strings, and sits forward, almost serious. "Barkas and his studies paid off," a gesture towards Misha, "-and we have a tracking expert at our disposal," a gesture this time to Daetris, " -along with the deadly fighting abilities of our dear Draconic friend here," a glass raised to Kel, "-so I think we're right on the money, if it's all the same to you. So, are we continuing on together? At least for a time? Work is no problem for me, but the real money requires a few more hands, don't you agree? After all, we're a multiplicity now, yes?" she glances towards the dwarf to her side pointedly.
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Agata Wrattfoot - Changeling Bard/Rogue (Out of the Darkness)
Barkas nods vigorously at the reference from Agata. “Yes, we should, most assuredly. I know you are interested in coin and so forth” his nose crinkles up a little bit “and it is necessary to eat and make your way in the world, but there is something more we are destined for... I just can’t put my hand on it yet...” His fingers clutch at the star map, he looks at it a minute, then rolls it up to protect it and listens again, looking at each of you excitedly, like a new father with quintuplets.
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
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OUT OF THE DARKNESS
A trek to Suormpar, the northernmost city in Ulgarth, a small, feudal kingdom that lies in the shadow of the Dustwall Mountains on the eastern shore of Xontuil Bay in The Shining South region of Faerûn, was supposed to be an easy way for you and your companions to make some quick coin. Aside from being one of the easternmost edges of the known lands and thus serving as one of the last bastions of defense from the barbarian hordes to the east, Suormpar is also known for its trade of Fiertallin, a white, chalky substance gathered from the river Xon and exported from the city to the rest of the realm. Fiertallin has become all the rage with nobles along the Sword Coast and Nigel Wellsworth, a minor, but aspiring merchant noble in Waterdeep, has offered you all a hefty sack of coin to make the trek to this southeastern corner of nowhere to secure a load of Fiertallin, circumventing the regular channels of trade in an attempt to make a name for himself. The trip was easy enough for a group of adventurers as accomplished as yourselves. A few skirmishes, a few encounters, but nothing you all couldn't handle. Once in Suormpar, locating the merchant lord's contact was easy enough. The deal secured, awaiting delivery the next morning, you all sat back to enjoy the sights, sounds and intricacies of the city. The easy life.
Of course, in the life of an adventurer, nothing is easy for too long.
Something is amiss in Suormpar, plaguing its citizens and foretelling an even greater danger that looms on the horizon.
Corrin Kettlewhistle: Halfling Life Cleric (Curse of Strahd)
Kip Dalton: Human Lore Bard (Waterdeep Dragon Heist)
Debauchery Dalliance: Half-Drow Oath of Conquest Paladin (White Plume Mountain)
MISHA
The following passage below is an excerpt from the Holy Book of the Acheronian Primer.
"Since the time of Creation and the dawn of war, Lord General Bane - the God of Tyranny, has ruled from the Conqueror's Throne on the plane of Acheron. He is the master of all Acheronians by the Will of His Command, and Ruler of countless souls by the might of his inexhaustible armies - alive, and dead. He is the ruler of the Plane of War for whom thousands of souls are sacrificed every day in the Battle Against Hell. Yet, even in his immortal state, the God of War continues his eternal vigilance. Greatest among his soldiers are the Prime Paladins, bio-engineered holy warriors. But, for all of Acheron's soldiers, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from the nightmares of Hell. To be an Acheronian in such times is to be one among untold millions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable."
ABOUT TWENTY YEARS AGO
The Genesis Chamber technology was masterful, but not perfect - once created, you needed guidance and training to reach Condition Prime. When I was 8, Legion Commander Taetanicus, for the first time, brought me to the Armory and showed me the most magnificent warhammer and shield I had ever seen on a table of pure onyx. Surrounded by my peers and instructors, I had no idea what was happening.
”Strength of Body. Strength of Will. Strength of Courage. These will be your weapons of Conquest. You will know you are ready when you are able to lift these instruments of Glory.”
He slowly gestured to the table, offering for me to pick up the hammer and shield. I tried will all of my strength, tried to concentrate, but was doubtful. The hammer did not budge. I was too weak. He sent me to the Hall Of Iron and spent the rest of the day lifting heavy things in various ways until my body and muscles could no longer. The next day I came back to the Armory with him and, again, he tested me, and once again, I could not lift the hammer and shield from the table. I grunted and got angry, and shot him a mighty scowl and held it. With infinite patience and wisdom he sent me back to the Hall of Iron where, again, I trained and lifted bars of metal until one day I noticed I was getting bigger, stronger, more powerful. The weights became ever so slightly lighter with each passing day, each passing month, each passing year.
When I was 13 I finally lifted the hammer and shield, and the next part of my training began.
A FEW DAYS AGO
Even with my eyes still closed, I could feel the subtlety of the shifting heat from the searing comfortableness of Acheron, my home, to the moist, overbearing humidity of southeast Faerun, a land I had once visited before. Allowing my spirit and body to settle, recovering from the sudden jolt of swapping planes once again, I could hear the waves crash against the shore behind me. It was a beautiful sound and sight, for the wartorn plane of Acheron had no such things.
The song of seagulls, chattering about in the air around - I could hear them again. The grit of sand fills the air, letting me know that I've arrived along the bay of the Great Sea. Excellent. Opening my eyes, I saw that ahead of me lied Suormpar, a part of Faerun new to me. I was right on target - the edge of the western lands. According to the reports - one of the last bastions before the Utter East with its barbarian hordes and exotic locales. I hear the prophetic words of my Legion Commander.
“Something stirs. Something that shouldn’t. Someone who shouldn’t.”
The words still echo in my mind, setting clear my purpose here on Faerun.
“Find. Stop. Succeed.”
Even now, the tone of those words strike an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. Being called to receive orders in person was one of the most glorious events a Prime could recieve - after the Honorable victory and conquest of combat. But this time, however, it wasn’t the commander's overbearing, tyrannical presence I was used to. This time, I detected something else when he spoke. Something I have not heard before in our many such briefings. Something unsettling.
Fear.
The crowd is lively - groups chatting, friends laughing and beer spilling across the bar as pints are drawn and food is served. The lights are low, flickering in the lamps and dripping wax down from the brassy candelabra's affixed to the walls, warm against the sticky wood and furnishings. A figure weaves between tables, inching through gaps between backs and dodging the occasional wild hand - "Sorry!" - or chair, holding a few drinks aloft in the vain effort of not wasting any - depositing them with no end of relief onto the knotted wood of the table booth at the back of the room. Absently wiping any spill onto her trouser leg, she spins the chair about and straddles it, leaning forward to the rest of the table. The lovingly painted Lute slides across her back some, making an odd shriek of off-notes against the beaded coat but she doesn't seem to care - too busy handing out new drinks and pushing the rest to the middle, out the way.
"The final round, as promised," she says - loudly, to be heard - sipping at her own drink (non-alcoholic, fruity and in any other context, potentially acid coloured). She cocks her head to the side, examining the left overs on a plate across the table, and plucks up some of the last bread. Her face is kind but average, and the most eye catching thing about her is the costume she wears - beautifully beaded and embroidered, and an acquired taste. She grins, human features warping slightly, before stuffing the last of the bread in her mouth. "So where are you folks headed now that we're done, hmmm? I was listening at the bar, and I heard there's some choice game near here - I thought you might be interested Daetris," She looks over towards the Elf, pushing her pint closer pointedly.
Agata Wrattfoot - Changeling Bard/Rogue (Out of the Darkness)
Kel leans back in his chair, rubbing his stomach with a taloned hand. "That, my friends, was an excellent meal and an excellent way to wrap up our mission." He says to his companions sitting around the table. A grin is stationed on his face but if you didn't spend time with dragonborn you might wonder if it was a smile or a snarl.
Kel is an imposing figure even without his armor. At almost six and a half feet tall with a muscular build and draconic heritage many people are wary of him. He takes a swig of ale..."Gaming you say?" looking at Agata. "I would be up for some of that!" He says, the firelight reflecting faintly off his blue scales. Kel had enjoyed traveling to Suormpar with his current companions. Everyone was so different! So interesting! He definitely would not mind spending more time with them.
Ada, the young half-elf female, is enjoying the last bites of bread from an exquisite meal. Her long light brown hair is a bit messy but in a sexy sort of way, she's wearing meager adventuring style clothes with a long sleeve white shirt and a hunter green colored dress that nearly reaches to the floor when standing. "That was truly an amazing meal." she says to no-one in particular "if only we could eat that well all the time."
D&D 5E BEYOND: Ada - Sorceress / Isa - Sorceress / Naris - Oathbreaker Paladin
CYBERPUNK RED DISCORD: Isa - Solo 5 / Angel - Solo 5 / Faun - Tech 5 / Raja - Nomad 5
PATHFINDER 2e DISCORD: Crystal - Sorceress
The noise within the tavern is a lot for someone more used to the outdoors. But the company is pleasant, and there’s a free drink ahead of her, so Daetris is placated for the moment. She’s managed to quell the twitching of her ears, at the very least. Dressed in neutrally colored traveling clothes, the young elf leans back in her seat and takes in the crowd yet again, her golden eyes taking note of all the revelry going on. A small smile curls at the corners of her mouth as she watches her traveling companions enjoy themselves and their meal.
The movement as their musically inclined friend returns jars Daetris’ attention back. She flicks her long braid over her shoulder and leans in to grab the pint scooted toward her. “Well, I’m never one to turn down choice game,” she says with a wink at Agata. “I only hope it’s more up my ally than the natural wildlife. If it is, it might be worth my sticking around.”
“Now, see my friends - that’s the ticket! With all those monstrous beasts about the area, I’m sure there’s some work about - flocks harassed, crops eaten, patrols mauled... whatever!” She flaps her hand, unconcerned. “We earn a mint hunting those, and we could eat like this every night,” Agatha cackles and slaps the table top heartily only to pull her hand up and disgustedly flick stray food from her fingers with a groan.
The crowd at the bar side gets louder, and a shout class through the room as an argument builds. She looks over her shoulder distractedly, eyeing the bar and the rest of the busy tavern with a rueful smile building, and turns back with lighter coloured eyes than you remember.
“I should have swung up this side of the coast beforehand,” she grins, sliding her Lute across her shoulders and strumming a triumphant trill as it settles on her knees. “Much more lucrative,” she flares her hands, mindful of the instrument, in a mockery of jazz hands.
Agata Wrattfoot - Changeling Bard/Rogue (Out of the Darkness)
Barkas
“Mystra’s star is in Uruath. What does it mean? Hmmmm, is it here? Tassabryl is so fickle. Are you going to hide behind the trees or clouds tonight? Here, here... annnnd here!”
You see a disheveled dwarf, in a nice cape and carrying a staff, he enters the tavern, looking at the floor. He seems to be tracing lines in the wood, stopping at large knots, and takes a 90 degree turn, and sits down at the your table.
He looks up at you and smiles at each of you in turn. “Hello! My name is Barkas. But you already know that, right? I’m glad to see you here. But we are missing one, aren’t we?” He pauses as all of you look at him for the odd dwarf that he is. He lays a map on the table.
“When will they arrive? Unknown, unknown..... Nonetheless I am thirsty from the road.” He looks around, “Beer, over here please!” He looks down at the dice, he will just observe, not keen to play.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Ah! Thees must be zeh place.
The sound of the tavern door opening revealed another patron. This one was clad in full plate armor that looks like it was made off world, with a sword and shield on her back. A woman, red hair like the fire of a roaring dwarven forge, long, and tied into a loose ponytail, with green eyes like radiant emeralds - alive, and full of life. Her smile was genuine across her face, and she looked around with a childlike wonder. Her armor was the color of yellows and reds, very form fitting, enabling her to be mobile while protected. She moved with the grace and poise of an officer, but did not have an aura of a bully, but a protector. Upon first glance, you feel the urge to know her, to be guarded by her - and only through the aura of sheer presence.
(Misha is about five feet, nine inches tall, her skin tan and hairless from living under a red giant sun. Physically, even though she was wearing armor, beneath Misha had a lean, stone-chiseled physique of a bodybuilder - huge, powerful muscles like steel cables would dance and flex with each move - yet she was curvy, remarkably feminine, and beautiful. A number of scars and blemishes pepper her skin, as if combat, weightlifting, and charisma were her best friends.)
Misha thundered over to the counter and sat down, looking around. The smell of food and drink made her mouth water, and her genetic programming urged her to order something, for to maintain her kind of energy would take a meal indeed.
“Have you been wandering again, Barkas?” they ask him, tired of the same routine that has happened every few nights that he goes out “stargazing.” “Yes, yes, yes, we know of your “mission”. You were awfully good back there with your staff but these fits with your memory must stop. Bloody hell, you’re not going to forget to bathe again now that we have nice rooms? How many times must we hear of this mysterious person who is going to join us? I think you are full of bullshit is what I say. We are here to find the Fiertallin, nothing more, nothing less. For a large sack of gold.”
Barkas holds his head down as the others speak. Rarely so forceful, he pounds his hand on the table and points to the map. “The charts don’t lie. She is coming.” No sooner than the words left his mouth, floating in the air, than an amazing specimen of strength and vitality, with shocking red hair, walks through the door. “And there, she is. Must be. I have never seen so clear of a sign as she....”. Barkas starts to glow at the excitement, almost turning, ethereal for a second, dotted with lights... and it fades.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
“The charts don’t lie. She is coming.”
"Barkas, be at ease my friend, we-" Kel stops short as he catches site of the woman walking into the tavern.
I have never seen so clear of a sign as she.
"She is a sight to see Barkas, that is true." He says as he watches her walk to the counter, her very presence mesmerizing. Shaking his head he snaps out of the enchantment he felt and rises from his chair. Moving with assurance through the crowd he pushes his way towards her. "My lady." He addresses her from behind. "If I may be so bold, I think we have been waiting for you."
Misha turned, facing the source of the greeting. Upon seeing you, her smile seemed to brighten, if that was possible. She twisted in her chair to face him
"Hello, my friend. A Dragonborn - fasceenayteeng! I hef heard of your kind, anxious to know one." her voice wasn't deep, but it wasn't high either. "Tell me. What can Misha do for you on this beautiful day, ah?" she asked, speaking in an accent you couldn't place. (Closest, for narrative reasons, would be Russian.) As she looks at you her eyes pierce into you deeply with a feeling hard to describe, as if with her commanding presence alone could she influence you to serve her, or alongside her. However, right now, she is giving off an aura of calmness, and of curiosity - two friends meeting for the first time.
"Hello, my friend. A Dragonborn - fasceenayteeng! I hef heard of your kind, anxious to know one." her voice wasn't deep, but it wasn't high either. "Tell me. What can Misha do for you on this beautiful day, ah?"
"Well, I hope I prove to be a good representation of my race." He says in a friendly voice, a smile on his face. "As for your question, truthfully I'm not sure how you can help us but my friend Barkas"...Kel points to the dwarf..."was very adament that you would be coming, destined to meet with us here, in Suormpar. Would you possibly do us the honor of joining my companions and myself at our table?" He asks, holding out his hand toward the table.
"Well, I hope I prove to be a good representation of my race." He says in a friendly voice, a smile on his face.
"By the Will of Bane, eet weel be so." Misha said proudly.
"As for your question, truthfully I'm not sure how you can help us but my friend Barkas"...Kel points to the dwarf..."was very adamant that you would be coming, destined to meet with us here, in Suormpar. Would you possibly do us the honor of joining my companions and myself at our table?" He asks, holding out his hand toward the table.
"Really! Most amazing news! Eet would be a pleasure, ya." Misha declared, getting up. "I do not beeleef I caught your name?"
"I do not beeleef I caught your name?"
"Ah, yes! How remiss of me." He gives a slight bow..."Keldrish Kimbatuul, but please call me Kel, much less of a mouthful. He says and turns to the barkeep. "Please send over another meal and some more ale to our table good sir." He requests, pointing to where they are sitting. "Shall we? I believe Barkas is about to fall out of his seat in anticipation of meeting you."
"Keldrish Kimbatuul, but please call me Kel, much less of a mouthful."
"I weel do as you say, Kel. Very nice to meet you. I am Misha!" she says, the proudness in her voice thick.
"Shall we? I believe Barkas is about to fall out of his seat in anticipation of meeting you."
"You lead. I weel follow, and meet thees Barkas." And Misha stays close behind you, sounding like a walking tank with each step.
“Barkas, if you say something is coming - despite all disbelief - I believe you, yes?” Agata pats him gently on the hand, eyeing the map curiously. “What does this-“ she stops as Barkas speaks, glowing, looking at the door with interest. Not often do you see someone quite literally light up with excitement, after all.
She swivels in her seat, leaning around to see past mostly drunk patrons, and eyes the newcomer (Impressive armour, vivid colours, pretty face, interesting weapons) - eyebrow quirking and canines visible with a chuckle under her breath. “What a sight. Not the most conspicuous...” She watches as their Dragonborn companion rises, and tracks the pair at the bar as people order pints, walking past.
She watches, idly strumming chords on her Lute as she relaxes back into her chair - eyes assessing.
“And you think she is a sign, Barkas?” Agata asks curiously over her shoulder, fingers strumming something curious as the pair at the bar start making their way over. “Bloody big sign. You lot might need to shove up - I don’t think my stool will hold that armour...”
Agata Wrattfoot - Changeling Bard/Rogue (Out of the Darkness)
Barkas stands up and moves, makes a place for the new guest to arrive. He is quite literally glowing with excitement. "I don't know what the hell it means, but you are here. I can't wait to meet you. My name is Barkas, Barkas Reedfellow. We are destined to do something great together." He turns and looks at the group, turns back to Misha, smiling as he pulls a tiny pine cone out of his beard, straightening himself ("grooming" himself, after a fashion) and looking at her. "Not quite an angel, but a being from another land. A singularity.." and he turns to the others - "and now we are a multiplicity. I can feel it. We are ready. To do what? How the hell should I know - that's where it gets interesting." He pulls out his notebook, pulls over the charts and starts looking at his scribbles and notes. "I have no clue... but I should...." His voice fades and he starts to go animatedly back to his notes, glancing up at Misha and the whole group from time to time, smiling and nodding.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"I have no clue... but I should...." His voice fades and he starts to go animatedly back to his notes, glancing up at Misha and the whole group from time to time, smiling and nodding.
"Well, that's that I suppose. Ah, welcome. Agata Wrattfoot, at your service." She stands, bows with a flourish and gestures to the freed seat by Barkas. She stands before Misha very obviously an entertainer; her costume obnoxious and designed to draw the eye, her movements with flair and her Lute pride of place - clearly well loved. She sits back on her chair, leaning into the table indulgently and begins to strum along again - a little jaunty tune to welcome the newcomer.
"Now, not to put too fine a point on it, but are we intending to stay on together for work? Not be presumptuous, but we did work well enough for the caravan and in a new city there is always work for larger groups - and frankly our new friend here does make stunning entrance," Agata points towards the newcomer, nudging the empty drinks out of the way some more invitingly. "I know I mentioned the rumour of game, and our dear friend Ada here has a lifestyle she wishes to accommodate with her magical capability." She stops strumming, stopping the notes with a hand across the strings, and sits forward, almost serious. "Barkas and his studies paid off," a gesture towards Misha, "-and we have a tracking expert at our disposal," a gesture this time to Daetris, " -along with the deadly fighting abilities of our dear Draconic friend here," a glass raised to Kel, "-so I think we're right on the money, if it's all the same to you. So, are we continuing on together? At least for a time? Work is no problem for me, but the real money requires a few more hands, don't you agree? After all, we're a multiplicity now, yes?" she glances towards the dwarf to her side pointedly.
Agata Wrattfoot - Changeling Bard/Rogue (Out of the Darkness)
Barkas nods vigorously at the reference from Agata. “Yes, we should, most assuredly. I know you are interested in coin and so forth” his nose crinkles up a little bit “and it is necessary to eat and make your way in the world, but there is something more we are destined for... I just can’t put my hand on it yet...” His fingers clutch at the star map, he looks at it a minute, then rolls it up to protect it and listens again, looking at each of you excitedly, like a new father with quintuplets.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.