A small caravan pulls into the town of Oakhurst. Dusty from the road, the caravan quickly begins to disperse into town, leaving a group of five strange looking people looking around the town. It is a small town, in the center is a small shrine. Surrounding the shrine is the village square where you can a blacksmith's, a general store, and a rusty sign that depicts a boar above the door to one of the few multistory buildings. From that building, you hear the sounds of laughter and general rowdiness you'd expect of a tavern.
Please introduce yourselves and welcome to the Sunless Citadel
Klement had been a bit nervoue during the ride to the town. He was a small, around 4'11 to be exact, and he has longer than average hair, which is combed to the left. He has big, hazel eyes filled with innocent curiosity and kindness. He wears a big, goofy smile, nearly all the time. He wears a blue scarf around his neck, which compliments his dark green silken tunic nicely. He wears a leather belt around his waist that secures cloth pants, which are tucked into the standard lack boots. He wears a backpack that has a few pots and pans attached to the outside of it. The head of his Viol and the tip of his Yklwa peek out of his backpack too. And finally, his wooden lute. It has a straps that slings on Klement's shoulder, so it's always out and ready to play. And along the base, in elven, is written "Ikki", the name of his master.The ride was a bit bumpy and such, and almost everyone was bigger than him, and carrying scary weapons. He mellowed himself most of the ride, and mayhaps the others, by playing a soft, soothing song on his lute to past the time. His slight anxiety soon melted away. They were a rather nice people.
And a smile would form on his face, and his eyes would widen as he heard the sounds of the town start to fade in, and grow closer, until it settled around them. As soon as they came to a stop, the spry half elf would get up and hop out of the caravan, gripping onto his lute. He looked around at the place in awe; he had been to many towns just like this, but he always had the same reaction. It was like a little kid who just entered a sweet shop. He moved around the side and to the front to pay the driver, and even left him a tip. He looked on at the shrine in the tower, taking it in with an "Ooooh~". He's gonna have to check that out later. But the sounds of the tavern distracted him just a bit.... he could settle in for a drink real quick.
A young, fledgling Goliath steps out onto the road. Sharzin “the Runt” stands just under 7ft tall. His pale grey skin reflects the light of the sun as it glistens on his freshly shaven head. He wears mismatched hide armor, sturdily made but showing it’s age, greying and discolored, stained with blood from battle’s past. Armed with a battle axe holstered to his hip, it’s razor edge covered by animal hide, his buckler and spear hang on his back as he rests his trusty crossbow on his shoulder. It’s handle notched marking each of his conquests. A quick swivel of his head and a raise if an eye brow, he frowns slightly. “Oy, this towns pretty tiny. Tha work’s good here yeah? Or is it all in the forest?”
Mighty on tiptoe stands 2 ft tall, the mightiest of the mighty small. He is blood red with extremities painted by weathering and usage almost black, and weathered skin grooves of deep maroon. Cloaked in a billowing cape that is currently open down the chest and head, scaley armor is hidden by countless darts in Rambo like rows crisscrossing every which way. Two daggers cam be seen above the cloak in an x marks the spot kind of style that looks like a miniature version of long sword on a human’s back , and A kobold sized shield and to him massive rapier hang on each hip. Barefoot with a skin temperature higher than most fueled by passionate annoyance at being overlooked and belittled, he is ready to conquer whatever challenges come his way.
looking about, mighty inches next to the Goliath and growls toward the giant: “Wonder who thinks they were champion of this town, cause in this moment, it’s gotta be the two of us.” He taps the Goliath’s leg with the back of his fist like a teammate making a joke.
He'd turn back to the party with a big smile on his face. He tapped his fingers on the base of his lute, and looked up at the goliath as he spoke. "Yes, the town is small, innit? But it's warm with good spirit and hospitality, the type of warmth that brightens your soul! But, I digress. They say there's a fortress out in the woods, yes, where I believe our little quest shall take place. But before we do anything, we should settle in the tavern! Though our journey here wasn't treacherous or such, it was rather long." He spoke with a soft voice, that had slight hints of an english accent.
They say that, in dreams, the world is at its most real. When we lay our heads upon our pillows or satchels, when we stare up at our ceilings or canopies, when we bask beneath the light of the moon and stars, we see things a bit differently. Unburdened by plans and problems, we experience things as they are. The world can simply breathe, and in its exhale we are captive to its whims.
It's for this reason that Agnes begins each day with a prayer of sorts (more of a conversation, really), in which she reflects upon her dreams and thanks the Great Dreamer for sending them. She doesn't question them too much, instead trusting in the guidance of destiny. She apologizes to the universe for the tracks she is to impart upon it that day, and asks for its patience as she finds her way. Like a shooting star traversing the vastness of space, hers can be a lonely road. But like the stars, there are numerous travelers with whom she might share the burden of this journey, and she asks for safe passage for them in kind.
It is in this way that Agnes begins this most fateful of days. Stepping from the back of the carriage she hums a little tune as she brushes out her long hair, her best and favorite feature. Its texture she'd gotten from her mother, Arya, whose hair was likewise wild and, it was well known, had a mind of its own. Agnes's is not independently intelligent, but is equally difficult to control (there aren't enough prestidigitations in the world to tame this rebellious mop). Its auburn color, however, comes from her father. At least, her mother says so, and she'd have to take her word on that, because she's never met the man. Her mother says only that theirs had been a passionate but brief encounter on the road, when Arya was a much younger woman. Two shooting stars, they'd been, flying in different directions.
The rising sun finds her roaming the square outside the tavern."Back in Oakhurst at last! Mornin' Klement, Sharzin, Sergei! Th'air's crisp as an autumn apple, i'nit? Oh, 'n good meet to you too, Mighty!" Agnes bends down really low and offers her own fist to bump Mighty's. "Whatta ya say, shall we check in t'tha tavern?"
The Goliath grins at Mighty with a soft smile, his eyes show eagerness “Ay, I like the sound of that!” He bends over slightly and gets the Kobold a tap on his head with his knuckle.
Turning back to the half elf “heck yes! Drinks are always welcome here. Then we work and drink again.” He chuckles
He would grin a bit, and give a small thumbs up. "I like your style, mister!" He said before turning around and being startled by the woman greeting them. He turned back around to look at her. " Oh, you scared me to death! " He said with a small smile. "But anyways, hey, nice to see ya!" He watched Agnes, and eagerly nodded his head to the tavern suggestion. Seems everyone is on board!
As you enter the tavern, you find it rather busy. The afternoon crowd looks around as you enter but quickly get back to their own business. The atmosphere isn't as happy as you expected but still bustling. You see a human couple sitting in a corner drinking, a group of dwarves playing cards at a table, a halfing farmer and an older woman sit at the bar. Behind the bar is a young fit young man. He waves at you as you enter, "Welcome to the Ol' Bear Inn and Tavern. What can I do for ya?"
(I'm gonna head to bed now, it's 10:00 PM pst and I have school 6:00 pst. I get out a 3:00 pm pst, so I can start playing then. Until then, stay frosty.)
"A few drinks for a few travelers, master - we've come a ways today."
A good natured half-orc, proud of bearing beneath rough peasant garb, unslings an ungainly greataxe that looks almost homemade in its crude efficacy, stepping up from behind the party as they enter the tavern. Sergei has very much enjoyed getting to know these few travelers from so far beyond the mountain passes of his home village, just a few days walk from Oakhurst, but to Sergei a world and a half away. He grins, showing a toothy and slightly soot-stained smile, drinking in the comforting atmosphere so common to most any tavern in this land or any other. Roughly a foot shorter than "the Runt," Sergei Appleslaf can still accurately surmise to be nearly as broad, sporting the wide shoulders and barrel-chest common to smithy work. Some metal tools jangle in his pack as he eagerly claims an appealing looking table, not too far from the tavern's fireplace.
Not perhaps the brightest or most delicate of comrades along the road, his easy laughter invites all to settle and join, his infectious excitement at the prospect for adventure palpable about his wrinkled face.
Klement would move into the tavern behind everyone, and would stop just outside to look around at the crowd. A nice place, though,as stated, wasn't as happy as it appeared from the outside. He shrugged and waved to the bartender cheerfully, moving up to a stool in front of the counter and hopping up. "A bit of cider please?" He asked with a smile, reaching into a small sack on the left side of his hip, to the front.
"Aye, a cup o' ale sounds right as rain," Agnes coos, trotting her way to the bar. She props her elbows on it and leans on her hands. "'n don't be stingy. My friends're thirsty." She smiles cheekily at the bartender.
The bartender nods and begins to pour, "So what brings such a strange group as you to our fair town?" He hands out your drinks and begins to polish a glass and glances at the other patrons at the bar to see if they need anything.
He thanks the bartender, and puts the cup up to his mouth, not yet sipping it. "I believe we're here for mostly different reasons, but they correlate." He'd take a sip, then take another after. It was the best cider he's had in months! " Gnf, how much do I need to pay? "
“Is there anyone here Mightier than Mighty!? I think not! (He is amusing himself as he usually doesn’t drink to keep his edge) bit sits with the others
Sharzin sits with the group, placing his crossbow against his chair. “Ale or mead for me…. Here for work, adventures and things.”
He keeps his hands busy, fiddling with anything he can grasp, a fork that he flicks into the air, catching it as it almost flings towards the bar keep. An awkward glance at those around as he puts it back on the table, fighting the urge to do it again.
"Just that!" Sergei leans in conspirationally. "There's been rumors all over the roads - a great fortress near here. Treasure and adventure and more! Say, you wouldn't know where it is, being a local, would you?"
A small caravan pulls into the town of Oakhurst. Dusty from the road, the caravan quickly begins to disperse into town, leaving a group of five strange looking people looking around the town. It is a small town, in the center is a small shrine. Surrounding the shrine is the village square where you can a blacksmith's, a general store, and a rusty sign that depicts a boar above the door to one of the few multistory buildings. From that building, you hear the sounds of laughter and general rowdiness you'd expect of a tavern.
Please introduce yourselves and welcome to the Sunless Citadel
Klement had been a bit nervoue during the ride to the town. He was a small, around 4'11 to be exact, and he has longer than average hair, which is combed to the left. He has big, hazel eyes filled with innocent curiosity and kindness. He wears a big, goofy smile, nearly all the time. He wears a blue scarf around his neck, which compliments his dark green silken tunic nicely. He wears a leather belt around his waist that secures cloth pants, which are tucked into the standard lack boots. He wears a backpack that has a few pots and pans attached to the outside of it. The head of his Viol and the tip of his Yklwa peek out of his backpack too. And finally, his wooden lute. It has a straps that slings on Klement's shoulder, so it's always out and ready to play. And along the base, in elven, is written "Ikki", the name of his master.The ride was a bit bumpy and such, and almost everyone was bigger than him, and carrying scary weapons. He mellowed himself most of the ride, and mayhaps the others, by playing a soft, soothing song on his lute to past the time. His slight anxiety soon melted away. They were a rather nice people.
And a smile would form on his face, and his eyes would widen as he heard the sounds of the town start to fade in, and grow closer, until it settled around them. As soon as they came to a stop, the spry half elf would get up and hop out of the caravan, gripping onto his lute. He looked around at the place in awe; he had been to many towns just like this, but he always had the same reaction. It was like a little kid who just entered a sweet shop. He moved around the side and to the front to pay the driver, and even left him a tip. He looked on at the shrine in the tower, taking it in with an "Ooooh~". He's gonna have to check that out later. But the sounds of the tavern distracted him just a bit.... he could settle in for a drink real quick.
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
A young, fledgling Goliath steps out onto the road. Sharzin “the Runt” stands just under 7ft tall. His pale grey skin reflects the light of the sun as it glistens on his freshly shaven head. He wears mismatched hide armor, sturdily made but showing it’s age, greying and discolored, stained with blood from battle’s past. Armed with a battle axe holstered to his hip, it’s razor edge covered by animal hide, his buckler and spear hang on his back as he rests his trusty crossbow on his shoulder. It’s handle notched marking each of his conquests. A quick swivel of his head and a raise if an eye brow, he frowns slightly. “Oy, this towns pretty tiny. Tha work’s good here yeah? Or is it all in the forest?”
He turns to the group shrugging his shoulders.
Mighty on tiptoe stands 2 ft tall, the mightiest of the mighty small. He is blood red with extremities painted by weathering and usage almost black, and weathered skin grooves of deep maroon. Cloaked in a billowing cape that is currently open down the chest and head, scaley armor is hidden by countless darts in Rambo like rows crisscrossing every which way. Two daggers cam be seen above the cloak in an x marks the spot kind of style that looks like a miniature version of long sword on a human’s back , and A kobold sized shield and to him massive rapier hang on each hip. Barefoot with a skin temperature higher than most fueled by passionate annoyance at being overlooked and belittled, he is ready to conquer whatever challenges come his way.
looking about, mighty inches next to the Goliath and growls toward the giant: “Wonder who thinks they were champion of this town, cause in this moment, it’s gotta be the two of us.” He taps the Goliath’s leg with the back of his fist like a teammate making a joke.
He'd turn back to the party with a big smile on his face. He tapped his fingers on the base of his lute, and looked up at the goliath as he spoke. "Yes, the town is small, innit? But it's warm with good spirit and hospitality, the type of warmth that brightens your soul! But, I digress. They say there's a fortress out in the woods, yes, where I believe our little quest shall take place. But before we do anything, we should settle in the tavern! Though our journey here wasn't treacherous or such, it was rather long." He spoke with a soft voice, that had slight hints of an english accent.
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
They say that, in dreams, the world is at its most real. When we lay our heads upon our pillows or satchels, when we stare up at our ceilings or canopies, when we bask beneath the light of the moon and stars, we see things a bit differently. Unburdened by plans and problems, we experience things as they are. The world can simply breathe, and in its exhale we are captive to its whims.
It's for this reason that Agnes begins each day with a prayer of sorts (more of a conversation, really), in which she reflects upon her dreams and thanks the Great Dreamer for sending them. She doesn't question them too much, instead trusting in the guidance of destiny. She apologizes to the universe for the tracks she is to impart upon it that day, and asks for its patience as she finds her way. Like a shooting star traversing the vastness of space, hers can be a lonely road. But like the stars, there are numerous travelers with whom she might share the burden of this journey, and she asks for safe passage for them in kind.
It is in this way that Agnes begins this most fateful of days. Stepping from the back of the carriage she hums a little tune as she brushes out her long hair, her best and favorite feature. Its texture she'd gotten from her mother, Arya, whose hair was likewise wild and, it was well known, had a mind of its own. Agnes's is not independently intelligent, but is equally difficult to control (there aren't enough prestidigitations in the world to tame this rebellious mop). Its auburn color, however, comes from her father. At least, her mother says so, and she'd have to take her word on that, because she's never met the man. Her mother says only that theirs had been a passionate but brief encounter on the road, when Arya was a much younger woman. Two shooting stars, they'd been, flying in different directions.
The rising sun finds her roaming the square outside the tavern. "Back in Oakhurst at last! Mornin' Klement, Sharzin, Sergei! Th'air's crisp as an autumn apple, i'nit? Oh, 'n good meet to you too, Mighty!" Agnes bends down really low and offers her own fist to bump Mighty's. "Whatta ya say, shall we check in t'tha tavern?"
The Goliath grins at Mighty with a soft smile, his eyes show eagerness “Ay, I like the sound of that!” He bends over slightly and gets the Kobold a tap on his head with his knuckle.
Turning back to the half elf “heck yes! Drinks are always welcome here. Then we work and drink again.” He chuckles
He would grin a bit, and give a small thumbs up. "I like your style, mister!" He said before turning around and being startled by the woman greeting them. He turned back around to look at her. " Oh, you scared me to death! " He said with a small smile. "But anyways, hey, nice to see ya!" He watched Agnes, and eagerly nodded his head to the tavern suggestion. Seems everyone is on board!
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
As you enter the tavern, you find it rather busy. The afternoon crowd looks around as you enter but quickly get back to their own business. The atmosphere isn't as happy as you expected but still bustling. You see a human couple sitting in a corner drinking, a group of dwarves playing cards at a table, a halfing farmer and an older woman sit at the bar. Behind the bar is a young fit young man. He waves at you as you enter, "Welcome to the Ol' Bear Inn and Tavern. What can I do for ya?"
(I'm gonna head to bed now, it's 10:00 PM pst and I have school 6:00 pst. I get out a 3:00 pm pst, so I can start playing then. Until then, stay frosty.)
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
"A few drinks for a few travelers, master - we've come a ways today."
A good natured half-orc, proud of bearing beneath rough peasant garb, unslings an ungainly greataxe that looks almost homemade in its crude efficacy, stepping up from behind the party as they enter the tavern. Sergei has very much enjoyed getting to know these few travelers from so far beyond the mountain passes of his home village, just a few days walk from Oakhurst, but to Sergei a world and a half away. He grins, showing a toothy and slightly soot-stained smile, drinking in the comforting atmosphere so common to most any tavern in this land or any other. Roughly a foot shorter than "the Runt," Sergei Appleslaf can still accurately surmise to be nearly as broad, sporting the wide shoulders and barrel-chest common to smithy work. Some metal tools jangle in his pack as he eagerly claims an appealing looking table, not too far from the tavern's fireplace.
Not perhaps the brightest or most delicate of comrades along the road, his easy laughter invites all to settle and join, his infectious excitement at the prospect for adventure palpable about his wrinkled face.
(Ah, so that was a ******* lie. Forgot I had therapy today. But I'm here now!)
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
Klement would move into the tavern behind everyone, and would stop just outside to look around at the crowd. A nice place, though,as stated, wasn't as happy as it appeared from the outside. He shrugged and waved to the bartender cheerfully, moving up to a stool in front of the counter and hopping up. "A bit of cider please?" He asked with a smile, reaching into a small sack on the left side of his hip, to the front.
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
"Aye, a cup o' ale sounds right as rain," Agnes coos, trotting her way to the bar. She props her elbows on it and leans on her hands. "'n don't be stingy. My friends're thirsty." She smiles cheekily at the bartender.
The bartender nods and begins to pour, "So what brings such a strange group as you to our fair town?" He hands out your drinks and begins to polish a glass and glances at the other patrons at the bar to see if they need anything.
He thanks the bartender, and puts the cup up to his mouth, not yet sipping it. "I believe we're here for mostly different reasons, but they correlate." He'd take a sip, then take another after. It was the best cider he's had in months! " Gnf, how much do I need to pay? "
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*
“Is there anyone here Mightier than Mighty!? I think not! (He is amusing himself as he usually doesn’t drink to keep his edge) bit sits with the others
Sharzin sits with the group, placing his crossbow against his chair. “Ale or mead for me…. Here for work, adventures and things.”
He keeps his hands busy, fiddling with anything he can grasp, a fork that he flicks into the air, catching it as it almost flings towards the bar keep. An awkward glance at those around as he puts it back on the table, fighting the urge to do it again.
"Just that!" Sergei leans in conspirationally. "There's been rumors all over the roads - a great fortress near here. Treasure and adventure and more! Say, you wouldn't know where it is, being a local, would you?"
He stays quiet for now, and listens to the others. There's gotta be something in that fortress that corresponds with those thieving goblins....
~Mikey
*thinks of better sig*