This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"the order of the gauntlet?" *john flashes back to his time in the military, trying to remember if he had some encounter with them* *getting nowhere in his thoughts he then turns to acknowledge the woman and her kids* "Ma'am its my pleasure to help, if ya need anything feel free to howler! *winks and tips hat* "by the way where you guys from anyway?, heard your daughter say somethin bout a cave?
-History Check: 10
-Perception Check to determine if the woman is human, elvish, or another race: 15
Smiling, Kailyin runs a hand through her daughter's hair. Her dry wrinkled hand has seen hard work; the cuticles are frayed and the nail beds are filthy. "Yes, sweetheart, I did know about the cave." A distant memory flashes across her eyes. There is pain, but the light of true love. She pulls away from the thought, returning to the moment. "I discovered it many years ago." Her voice falls away to whispers. "My husband asked for my hand there. The children don't know he's dead. He drowned in a boating accident in Yartar. It's been four years." She visibly fights back tears. "I miss him so."
Kaiylin quickly composes herself so as not to upset her children. It's been a long road as it is. "We're from Thaspar." On the western edge of the Fields of the Dead. "It's a small farming community." She sighs. "Small." She kisses her daughter on the forehead. "Very, very small. You probably haven't heard of it. The villagers like it that way."
seeing that they are just tired and not wounded, Norvalor is going to try to amuse the little girl with minor illusion creating images of animals to hopefully entertain the child.
john takes his hat off his head and holds it on his chest "i'm sorry for your loss ma'am, i hope you and the kids find some hope and safety within these walls" "I don't know what trouble is brewing out there, but you rest assured none of us here ain't gonna let anything bad happen!
John then looks at the kids and gives them a simple elvish goodbye, as he turns to check on the front gates and see if they are moving along any.
At the sight of the magical animals hopping and dashing about, the little girl laughs and claps, She leaps to her feet and gives chase to the imaginative creations Norvalor creates.
Beshaba, have mercy! There must be hundreds of people waiting in line—humans mostly, but still. Too, you spot a handful of half-elves, even fewer elves, two dwarves total by your count; they all seem to be gossiping about the latest news of Baldur’s Gate and the Sword Coast. Trivial gossip, mostly, little about orcs. Odd. So many people on the road knew. But at the city’s gates, no one seems to care, or show any interest in the rumors.
Are they numb to strife?
Has the series of catastrophes Faerûn has endured over the last few centuries made the people of Baldur’s Gate specifically indifferent to the whoops and hollers banded creatures make as they march for war?
You overhear the dwarves, miners probably—because they can’t seem to speak in a volume lower than rumbling boulders—talking about a far away island. Something about a lack of supply to meet the demand—adventurers, did one just say? You didn’t catch the name of the island, but you did hear that a fair number of adventurers sailed across the Sea of Swords westward in search of treasure, and some sort of challenge. The sparse details make it difficult for you to get a clear understanding of what it is that holds their attention.
A western island… wouldn’t that be the Moonshaes? Not a tensummer ago, adventurers from all over the Western Heartlands untied in a clash against Dragon Queen Tiamat. Certainly, the dwarves are reminiscing about those terrible events.
Nevertheless, some several dozen feet ahead, casually walking the line, a gold dragonborn takes careful stock of every person waiting to get through the Wyrm’s Gate. He towers a full foot over everyone. Immense, thick and powerful, he clutches a spear with his right hand, and nods graciously to anyone who makes eye contact. He wears a dark black combat kilt embroidered with a large closed red fist wreathed in orange flame, and matching hefty black leather bands encircle his forearms and shins. A long gold tail moves slowly back and forth.
“Zavakk. Good man, that one.” The words come as quick praise from the lanky brown-haired man directly in front of you. Though the words are softly spoken, he says them loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear. Clearly, this man is ready to stand with those who are ready and willing to stand for him.
Others in line apparently share the same sentiment. Nods of agreement and muttered ayes echo the observation.
A beefy tattooed man turns around by the waist. His blue eyes narrow, drawing curtains over a memory. “Agreed, friend. The Lower City would be riddled with thugs and cutthroats without Zavakk. Under his watch, business has improved.”
“Too true, friend. All the more reason I am willing to pay the taxes at the gate. It hurts my purse, but the price of freedom we all share can be easily measured by its weight in gold. My business, too, has seen an increase in profits. Not as significant as yours, I’m sure, but enough to keep warm food on the table for my wee ones.” He extends a hand in greeting. “Lonz Arrya.”
“Of Lonz Rugs,” the tattooed man asks.
“The same. A rug for every area,” the merchant replies with an easy smile.
The conversation adds levity to the summer heat, for which you are thankful. You catch the name of the tattooed man. Cenareon. (sen-AR-ee-on).
In the time it took the two men to introduce each other, and strike up conversation about the safest trade routes, the gold dragonborn arrives to your place in line.
“Hail, and well met, adventurers,” Zavakk says in a deep, nasally voice. He openly wears the symbol of the Lord’s Alliance, stamped upon an iron medallion hanging from a neck chain. “Might I ask, what brings you to Baldur’s Gate?”
And so begins Episode 1: Blood in The Time of Tollera
"No worries Ma'am, their joy is an important thing to have after long travels. It helps alleviate the tires of travel even if only momentarily." Norvalor says with a polite nod of the head and smiles.
Seeing the children are tired from the travel he moves over to them. Dropping to a knee in front of them he removes his pack. Giving his best dwarven smile (trying not to scare them) he pulls out 2 small wooden carvings. A dwarf warrior with an axe he hands to the boy. What appears to be a human female with a bow he hands to the girl.
"There ya be liitluns. They'll help protect you. The magic of the dwarves is in them." He winks at them and starts to rise.
Standing up he looks to the mother.
"So what are you running from that brings you all the way to Baldur's Gate? What's happening in your village?"
If the kids are distracted by Norvalor perhaps he can get the mother off to the side to speak away from the kids.
Before Cath returns the dice to Kelten, he catches the engraved numerals flicker in the sunlight. As they spill across the ground, you hear the muted sounds of thunder. "Keep them, friend. Perhaps one day they'll find their way back home."
Kaiylin blinks. She is truly overwhelmed by all the generosity shown her. "Freedom," she says toward Cath. "Thaspar is too small a place for the likes of me. I need more. The city," she starts to say, looking toward the wall and Baldur's Gate beyond. "I've some skill around the kitchen, but I'm better with the brew." Her eye twinkles with pride. "Thaspar is no places to raise children." Especially half-elves, her silence implies.
Cath takes the dice and tucks them into a pocket. "I am honored and I thank you."
In response to Kaiylin. "Freedom, a noble idea. I hope you find it. When you enter the city, go to the Purple Wyrm. The inn is good, the people running it well respected. At least they were the last time I was in the city. Tell them Cath Redaxe sent you. They may not remember me though. I am headed there when I get in the gates, you are welcome to come along. Mayhaps we can get you settled. The city is a dangerous place for those who don't know their way around. Too easy to disappear."
Cath looks up to Zavakk and introduces himself. "I am Cath Redaxe of Hundelstone, near the Ten-Towns. I am an adventurer by trade and a mercenary by need. After many days on the road I seek the Purple Wyrm to rest and resupply. I have been in the city many times, but the line seems extra long and the rumors don't bode well. What is the trouble that is brewing?"
With a glint in his eyes "I hear there may be trouble with orcs. I can help with that."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"hmm haven't heard of elves and humans getting hitched before, no offense ma'am" "Thaspar sounds like a peculiar place" I think i did some fighting there John thought to himself with a slight worry on his face.
"I would." says Cath and gives them a roll. He watches them closely recalling his days back in the north.
"If I'm not careful, I may hear the call of the mountain myself. It's been 10 years since I've been back north. Not since the war of Many-Arrows"
"the order of the gauntlet?" *john flashes back to his time in the military, trying to remember if he had some encounter with them* *getting nowhere in his thoughts he then turns to acknowledge the woman and her kids* "Ma'am its my pleasure to help, if ya need anything feel free to howler! *winks and tips hat* "by the way where you guys from anyway?, heard your daughter say somethin bout a cave?
-History Check: 10
-Perception Check to determine if the woman is human, elvish, or another race: 15
" cave aye, now what cave might this be" Fen'r focusing his attention on the mother
For offering food and shelter to Kaiylin's children, 25 XP. :D
Smiling, Kailyin runs a hand through her daughter's hair. Her dry wrinkled hand has seen hard work; the cuticles are frayed and the nail beds are filthy. "Yes, sweetheart, I did know about the cave." A distant memory flashes across her eyes. There is pain, but the light of true love. She pulls away from the thought, returning to the moment. "I discovered it many years ago." Her voice falls away to whispers. "My husband asked for my hand there. The children don't know he's dead. He drowned in a boating accident in Yartar. It's been four years." She visibly fights back tears. "I miss him so."
GM does Kailyin or her daughter show any visible wounds?
Perception: 9
Neither Kaiylin nor her children have any visible wounds. Fatigue, yes.
Kaiylin quickly composes herself so as not to upset her children. It's been a long road as it is. "We're from Thaspar." On the western edge of the Fields of the Dead. "It's a small farming community." She sighs. "Small." She kisses her daughter on the forehead. "Very, very small. You probably haven't heard of it. The villagers like it that way."
John, easily recognizes the human heritage running through Kaiylin's veins, and interestingly enough, elvish ancestry in the ears of her children.
seeing that they are just tired and not wounded, Norvalor is going to try to amuse the little girl with minor illusion creating images of animals to hopefully entertain the child.
john takes his hat off his head and holds it on his chest "i'm sorry for your loss ma'am, i hope you and the kids find some hope and safety within these walls" "I don't know what trouble is brewing out there, but you rest assured none of us here ain't gonna let anything bad happen!
John then looks at the kids and gives them a simple elvish goodbye, as he turns to check on the front gates and see if they are moving along any.
At the sight of the magical animals hopping and dashing about, the little girl laughs and claps, She leaps to her feet and gives chase to the imaginative creations Norvalor creates.
"Thank you, kind sir." Kaiylin is forever grateful for bringing cheer to the lives of her little ones.
Beshaba, have mercy! There must be hundreds of people waiting in line—humans mostly, but still. Too, you spot a handful of half-elves, even fewer elves, two dwarves total by your count; they all seem to be gossiping about the latest news of Baldur’s Gate and the Sword Coast. Trivial gossip, mostly, little about orcs. Odd. So many people on the road knew. But at the city’s gates, no one seems to care, or show any interest in the rumors.
Are they numb to strife?
Has the series of catastrophes Faerûn has endured over the last few centuries made the people of Baldur’s Gate specifically indifferent to the whoops and hollers banded creatures make as they march for war?
You overhear the dwarves, miners probably—because they can’t seem to speak in a volume lower than rumbling boulders—talking about a far away island. Something about a lack of supply to meet the demand—adventurers, did one just say? You didn’t catch the name of the island, but you did hear that a fair number of adventurers sailed across the Sea of Swords westward in search of treasure, and some sort of challenge. The sparse details make it difficult for you to get a clear understanding of what it is that holds their attention.
A western island… wouldn’t that be the Moonshaes? Not a tensummer ago, adventurers from all over the Western Heartlands untied in a clash against Dragon Queen Tiamat. Certainly, the dwarves are reminiscing about those terrible events.
Nevertheless, some several dozen feet ahead, casually walking the line, a gold dragonborn takes careful stock of every person waiting to get through the Wyrm’s Gate. He towers a full foot over everyone. Immense, thick and powerful, he clutches a spear with his right hand, and nods graciously to anyone who makes eye contact. He wears a dark black combat kilt embroidered with a large closed red fist wreathed in orange flame, and matching hefty black leather bands encircle his forearms and shins. A long gold tail moves slowly back and forth.
“Zavakk. Good man, that one.” The words come as quick praise from the lanky brown-haired man directly in front of you. Though the words are softly spoken, he says them loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear. Clearly, this man is ready to stand with those who are ready and willing to stand for him.
Others in line apparently share the same sentiment. Nods of agreement and muttered ayes echo the observation.
A beefy tattooed man turns around by the waist. His blue eyes narrow, drawing curtains over a memory. “Agreed, friend. The Lower City would be riddled with thugs and cutthroats without Zavakk. Under his watch, business has improved.”
“Too true, friend. All the more reason I am willing to pay the taxes at the gate. It hurts my purse, but the price of freedom we all share can be easily measured by its weight in gold. My business, too, has seen an increase in profits. Not as significant as yours, I’m sure, but enough to keep warm food on the table for my wee ones.” He extends a hand in greeting. “Lonz Arrya.”
“Of Lonz Rugs,” the tattooed man asks.
“The same. A rug for every area,” the merchant replies with an easy smile.
The conversation adds levity to the summer heat, for which you are thankful. You catch the name of the tattooed man. Cenareon. (sen-AR-ee-on).
In the time it took the two men to introduce each other, and strike up conversation about the safest trade routes, the gold dragonborn arrives to your place in line.
“Hail, and well met, adventurers,” Zavakk says in a deep, nasally voice. He openly wears the symbol of the Lord’s Alliance, stamped upon an iron medallion hanging from a neck chain. “Might I ask, what brings you to Baldur’s Gate?”
And so begins Episode 1: Blood in The Time of Tollera
"No worries Ma'am, their joy is an important thing to have after long travels. It helps alleviate the tires of travel even if only momentarily." Norvalor says with a polite nod of the head and smiles.
Cath hands the dice back to Kelton. "Thank you."
Seeing the children are tired from the travel he moves over to them. Dropping to a knee in front of them he removes his pack. Giving his best dwarven smile (trying not to scare them) he pulls out 2 small wooden carvings. A dwarf warrior with an axe he hands to the boy. What appears to be a human female with a bow he hands to the girl.
"There ya be liitluns. They'll help protect you. The magic of the dwarves is in them." He winks at them and starts to rise.
Standing up he looks to the mother.
"So what are you running from that brings you all the way to Baldur's Gate? What's happening in your village?"
If the kids are distracted by Norvalor perhaps he can get the mother off to the side to speak away from the kids.
Before Cath returns the dice to Kelten, he catches the engraved numerals flicker in the sunlight. As they spill across the ground, you hear the muted sounds of thunder. "Keep them, friend. Perhaps one day they'll find their way back home."
Kaiylin blinks. She is truly overwhelmed by all the generosity shown her. "Freedom," she says toward Cath. "Thaspar is too small a place for the likes of me. I need more. The city," she starts to say, looking toward the wall and Baldur's Gate beyond. "I've some skill around the kitchen, but I'm better with the brew." Her eye twinkles with pride. "Thaspar is no places to raise children." Especially half-elves, her silence implies.
Cath takes the dice and tucks them into a pocket. "I am honored and I thank you."
In response to Kaiylin. "Freedom, a noble idea. I hope you find it. When you enter the city, go to the Purple Wyrm. The inn is good, the people running it well respected. At least they were the last time I was in the city. Tell them Cath Redaxe sent you. They may not remember me though. I am headed there when I get in the gates, you are welcome to come along. Mayhaps we can get you settled. The city is a dangerous place for those who don't know their way around. Too easy to disappear."
Cath looks up to Zavakk and introduces himself. "I am Cath Redaxe of Hundelstone, near the Ten-Towns. I am an adventurer by trade and a mercenary by need. After many days on the road I seek the Purple Wyrm to rest and resupply. I have been in the city many times, but the line seems extra long and the rumors don't bode well. What is the trouble that is brewing?"
With a glint in his eyes "I hear there may be trouble with orcs. I can help with that."
"hmm haven't heard of elves and humans getting hitched before, no offense ma'am" "Thaspar sounds like a peculiar place" I think i did some fighting there John thought to himself with a slight worry on his face.
history: 18