A slow smile spreads across Alistair's face, a flicker of dark hunger in his eyes. "Aye, the tome," he murmurs, the word rolling off his tongue like a promise. "Recovering that relic should be our top priority. Imagine the power it could hold." His voice is laced with a dangerous smoothness, the promise of dark knowledge outweighing any concerns about the hobgoblins. The sooner we have it, the sooner I can delve into its secrets. And who knows what knowledge, what power, waits to be unlocked within its pages? Alistair's eyes gleam with a dark hunger, his ambition barely veiled. "Besides, these creatures are likely little more than pawns. Finding their masters, those who pull the strings, that's where the true answers lie." Alistair leans back, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. The hobgoblins are a distraction, but a potentially useful one. They could lead me closer to the real power I crave.
“Alright, north to the entrance to the tome. Usual marching order with me in the lead, Brockes and Krog in the middle, and Alistair guarding the rear. We will leave those hobgoblins for later.”
As the fire crackles and throws flickering shadows across their faces, Alistair leans forward, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Speaking of the Ox and Pox," he says, addressing Zeke and the others gathered around the fire, "it reminds me of a right rowdy night I had performing at a similar tavern a while back." He takes a swig from his wineskin, savoring the cool liquid before continuing. "The place was called The Rusty Crow, known for its questionable clientele and even more questionable ale. I was a braver bard in those days, or perhaps just more foolish," he adds with a wry smile. "Anyway, I was barely into my first song, a love ballad about a star-crossed bard and a mischievous devil, when a brawl erupts in the back corner. Seems two lumbering orcs had taken offense to a gnome's dice roll. Tankards flew, insults were hurled, and within seconds the entire tavern was in chaos." Alistair throws his hands up in mock exasperation. "Now, most bards would have hightailed it out of there, but not yours truly. I saw an opportunity! Instead of fleeing, I slammed my lute onto a table, silencing the crowd for a moment. Then, with a voice that boomed like a dragon," he lowers his voice to a dramatic whisper, "I began weaving a tale of legendary brawls, of heroes who fought with the fury of titans and the grace of drunken hippogriffs!” Alistair leans back, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It was glorious chaos! The orcs, momentarily stunned, found themselves cheering alongside the gnome they'd been threatening moments ago. By the time the song ended, the tavern wasn't filled with rage, but with the joyous camaraderie of a well-earned brawl. The gnome even bought me a drink, though I can't say the ale did much to improve my lute's slightly bent strings." He winks at Zeke. "So next time a tavern brawl breaks out, Zeke, don't reach for your sword just yet. There might be a more… melodic solution at hand."
Alistair shrugs, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The memory of the Rusty Crow was still fresh, the scent of stale ale and the thrill of the gamble lingering in his mind. "Let's say there was more to it than pure altruism, my friend," Alistair replies, his voice smooth and laced with a hint of amusement. "The ale at that particular establishment was, shall we say, questionable at best. Everyone still had their fun with fists and blood. But the gnome, bless his pointy-eared soul, was more than happy to share his 'lucky' dice with me after a particularly… persuasive song. Not that I condone cheating, mind you, but a bard's gotta make a living somehow." Alistair throws his head back and laughs, a rich, genuine sound that rings out through the clearing. The darkness that often clung to him seems to recede for a moment, replaced by a flash of his former roguish charm.
"I gotta tell you, I am jealous you got the lucky dice. Please let you know if you find someone with a lucky dragonchess set. I am still searching for my first win in that dratted game," says Zeke ruefully.
"I probably haven't told you about that time I almost won a game. Not surprisingly, that also has something to do with ale. Zeke looks around and takes the silence and the absence of people running away as permission to share one of his favorite stories.
"So I was minding my business in the local tavern after another non-eventful shift of letting peasants through the back entrance to the town, when the tallest orc or shortest giant walked in. I couldn't believe my eyes - the brute had to bend down to get through the door! He lumbered over to the bar and grunted out some noises. Ole Stout, that's the barkeep and a friend of mine, couldn't understand so he asked the thing to repeat itself. Well, the orc giant thing repeated himself, louder than before and as unclear as before but this time accompanied with a slam of his fist on the bar. Stout has seen this sort of action before and can take of himself, so decides the correct course of action is to give the brute a shot of his strongest rotgut with a chaser of some ale out of a barrel that had no wooden top but instead was covered with flies and other assorted insects. This normally sends trouble-makers running to the woods to expel the liquids in private but instead elicits a grin from the huge fellow. He promptly plunks down a gold piece and motions for another. Ole Stout knows gold pieces in this part are as a rare as an honest bard - present company excepted, Alistair - so he grabs that coin faster than a hippogriff pounces on a horse and gets him new drinks. After three more rounds, Stout nods at me and I wander over with my chess set in hand. I propose a friendly game with the beast, who by now has his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and eyes leaking like a waterfall. He counter-proposes by slamming another gold piece on the bar and staring, in his cross-eyed manner, at me. I look to Stout who at first shakes his head vigorously at me. I look at Stout again and motion with my head at the clearly inebriated half-wit. Stout sighs and discretely slides me his gold piece while shaking his head and wiping away a tear. Harumph, the lack of confidence of friends. Anyway, we get the game going and I quickly take a number of his pieces while not losing any of mine. But then, just when he was down to just his thingymabobby and whatchamajer - I can never remember their real names - the orc turns into the most beautiful wizard I have ever seen! Not that I have seen many wizards, but certainly had I never seen any that could wear a red dress with cleavage to here and a slit to there that almost met. Wowzah! So due to the obvious and justifiable distraction, I never looked at a piece again and soon lost my last piece and was out one gold coin. Or as Stout likes to remind me, still, to this day, his gold coin. The wizard never did say her name or say why she was there, she just took the gold piece at the end of the game, winked at Stout and me, then strode out of the tavern. A few brave souls looked out the dirty windows to see where she went, but she had disappeared.
Seeing people still listening, Zeke considers how great it is to have a new audience for his story and desiring not to scare them away, so concludes, "And that, my friends, is how Zeke de Zani almost won a dragonchess game."
Alistair throws his head back and roars with laughter, the sound echoing through the trees. "A woman? You, Zeke, distracted by a woman? Especially one with such... pronounced features?"He wipes a tear from his eye, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Most dwarves I know prefer their women with a bit more...heft. Broad shoulders, a hearty laugh, perhaps a beard that rivals your own." He raises his wineskin in a toast, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Here's to ale, to a good battle, and to powerful women, in whatever form they may take!"
Well rested, and inspired by a night of storytelling and camaraderie, the party makes good time as they travel out of the forest and into the foothills of the Northwall Mountains. As the group approaches a fork in a dried creek bed, Alistair and Krog hear someone approaching from the west. They signal to the others and you have a few moments to take action before the approaching party arrives at your location.
(Go ahead and tell me where to place your character on the map, anywhere within one turn's movement from the southern/bottom edge, and declare any action your character is taking/planning to take. If you declare a combat action, please roll initiative as well.)
OOC: I will assume traditional walking order - Zeke followed by Krog and Brocke with Alistair in the rear. If the new folks are here, then he/she/they will be before Alistair.
IC: "Good job paying attention," Zeke says to Alistair and Krog. He brings his warhammer to fighting position and stands, legs beyond shoulder width, at the ready (at J12).
A slow smile spreads across Alistair's face, a flicker of dark hunger in his eyes. "Aye, the tome," he murmurs, the word rolling off his tongue like a promise. "Recovering that relic should be our top priority. Imagine the power it could hold." His voice is laced with a dangerous smoothness, the promise of dark knowledge outweighing any concerns about the hobgoblins. The sooner we have it, the sooner I can delve into its secrets. And who knows what knowledge, what power, waits to be unlocked within its pages? Alistair's eyes gleam with a dark hunger, his ambition barely veiled. "Besides, these creatures are likely little more than pawns. Finding their masters, those who pull the strings, that's where the true answers lie." Alistair leans back, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. The hobgoblins are a distraction, but a potentially useful one. They could lead me closer to the real power I crave.
“Alright, north to the entrance to the tome. Usual marching order with me in the lead, Brockes and Krog in the middle, and Alistair guarding the rear. We will leave those hobgoblins for later.”
With the group settled on a course of action, the party heads northeast through the forest towards the crypt.
(Needs survival check from someone, DC 15, with advantage if anyone wants to help. And perception checks from everyone not busy navigating, please.)
Alistair perception 14
Zeke survival 8+2=10
perception with inspiration 11+2+1=14
ooc - Zeke really is crap at scouting. 😂
Perception: 13
Krog Survival 15
As the fire crackles and throws flickering shadows across their faces, Alistair leans forward, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Speaking of the Ox and Pox," he says, addressing Zeke and the others gathered around the fire, "it reminds me of a right rowdy night I had performing at a similar tavern a while back." He takes a swig from his wineskin, savoring the cool liquid before continuing. "The place was called The Rusty Crow, known for its questionable clientele and even more questionable ale. I was a braver bard in those days, or perhaps just more foolish," he adds with a wry smile. "Anyway, I was barely into my first song, a love ballad about a star-crossed bard and a mischievous devil, when a brawl erupts in the back corner. Seems two lumbering orcs had taken offense to a gnome's dice roll. Tankards flew, insults were hurled, and within seconds the entire tavern was in chaos." Alistair throws his hands up in mock exasperation. "Now, most bards would have hightailed it out of there, but not yours truly. I saw an opportunity! Instead of fleeing, I slammed my lute onto a table, silencing the crowd for a moment. Then, with a voice that boomed like a dragon," he lowers his voice to a dramatic whisper, "I began weaving a tale of legendary brawls, of heroes who fought with the fury of titans and the grace of drunken hippogriffs!” Alistair leans back, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It was glorious chaos! The orcs, momentarily stunned, found themselves cheering alongside the gnome they'd been threatening moments ago. By the time the song ended, the tavern wasn't filled with rage, but with the joyous camaraderie of a well-earned brawl. The gnome even bought me a drink, though I can't say the ale did much to improve my lute's slightly bent strings." He winks at Zeke. "So next time a tavern brawl breaks out, Zeke, don't reach for your sword just yet. There might be a more… melodic solution at hand."
Krog will enjoy Alistair's little tale, "Well done. You may have saved that Gnome's life. Plus, you got an ale out of it."
"Seems like you ruined a great night! Fists and blood is a mighty fine way to enjoy the night."
Alistair shrugs, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The memory of the Rusty Crow was still fresh, the scent of stale ale and the thrill of the gamble lingering in his mind. "Let's say there was more to it than pure altruism, my friend," Alistair replies, his voice smooth and laced with a hint of amusement. "The ale at that particular establishment was, shall we say, questionable at best. Everyone still had their fun with fists and blood. But the gnome, bless his pointy-eared soul, was more than happy to share his 'lucky' dice with me after a particularly… persuasive song. Not that I condone cheating, mind you, but a bard's gotta make a living somehow." Alistair throws his head back and laughs, a rich, genuine sound that rings out through the clearing. The darkness that often clung to him seems to recede for a moment, replaced by a flash of his former roguish charm.
Krog nods to Alistair, "For me, there is no such thing as bad ale." He gives the Bard a big grin.
"I gotta tell you, I am jealous you got the lucky dice. Please let you know if you find someone with a lucky dragonchess set. I am still searching for my first win in that dratted game," says Zeke ruefully.
"I probably haven't told you about that time I almost won a game. Not surprisingly, that also has something to do with ale. Zeke looks around and takes the silence and the absence of people running away as permission to share one of his favorite stories.
"So I was minding my business in the local tavern after another non-eventful shift of letting peasants through the back entrance to the town, when the tallest orc or shortest giant walked in. I couldn't believe my eyes - the brute had to bend down to get through the door! He lumbered over to the bar and grunted out some noises. Ole Stout, that's the barkeep and a friend of mine, couldn't understand so he asked the thing to repeat itself. Well, the orc giant thing repeated himself, louder than before and as unclear as before but this time accompanied with a slam of his fist on the bar. Stout has seen this sort of action before and can take of himself, so decides the correct course of action is to give the brute a shot of his strongest rotgut with a chaser of some ale out of a barrel that had no wooden top but instead was covered with flies and other assorted insects. This normally sends trouble-makers running to the woods to expel the liquids in private but instead elicits a grin from the huge fellow. He promptly plunks down a gold piece and motions for another. Ole Stout knows gold pieces in this part are as a rare as an honest bard - present company excepted, Alistair - so he grabs that coin faster than a hippogriff pounces on a horse and gets him new drinks. After three more rounds, Stout nods at me and I wander over with my chess set in hand. I propose a friendly game with the beast, who by now has his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and eyes leaking like a waterfall. He counter-proposes by slamming another gold piece on the bar and staring, in his cross-eyed manner, at me. I look to Stout who at first shakes his head vigorously at me. I look at Stout again and motion with my head at the clearly inebriated half-wit. Stout sighs and discretely slides me his gold piece while shaking his head and wiping away a tear. Harumph, the lack of confidence of friends. Anyway, we get the game going and I quickly take a number of his pieces while not losing any of mine. But then, just when he was down to just his thingymabobby and whatchamajer - I can never remember their real names - the orc turns into the most beautiful wizard I have ever seen! Not that I have seen many wizards, but certainly had I never seen any that could wear a red dress with cleavage to here and a slit to there that almost met. Wowzah! So due to the obvious and justifiable distraction, I never looked at a piece again and soon lost my last piece and was out one gold coin. Or as Stout likes to remind me, still, to this day, his gold coin. The wizard never did say her name or say why she was there, she just took the gold piece at the end of the game, winked at Stout and me, then strode out of the tavern. A few brave souls looked out the dirty windows to see where she went, but she had disappeared.
Seeing people still listening, Zeke considers how great it is to have a new audience for his story and desiring not to scare them away, so concludes, "And that, my friends, is how Zeke de Zani almost won a dragonchess game."
Krog will listen carefully at Zeke's story. When he finishes Krog will look at the Cleric, "Now that sounds like a Wizard worthy of a rematch."
Alistair throws his head back and roars with laughter, the sound echoing through the trees. "A woman? You, Zeke, distracted by a woman? Especially one with such... pronounced features?" He wipes a tear from his eye, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Most dwarves I know prefer their women with a bit more...heft. Broad shoulders, a hearty laugh, perhaps a beard that rivals your own." He raises his wineskin in a toast, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Here's to ale, to a good battle, and to powerful women, in whatever form they may take!"
Well rested, and inspired by a night of storytelling and camaraderie, the party makes good time as they travel out of the forest and into the foothills of the Northwall Mountains. As the group approaches a fork in a dried creek bed, Alistair and Krog hear someone approaching from the west. They signal to the others and you have a few moments to take action before the approaching party arrives at your location.
(Go ahead and tell me where to place your character on the map, anywhere within one turn's movement from the southern/bottom edge, and declare any action your character is taking/planning to take. If you declare a combat action, please roll initiative as well.)
(KaosDragonborn, please roll a Perception check)
OOC: I will assume traditional walking order - Zeke followed by Krog and Brocke with Alistair in the rear. If the new folks are here, then he/she/they will be before Alistair.
IC: "Good job paying attention," Zeke says to Alistair and Krog. He brings his warhammer to fighting position and stands, legs beyond shoulder width, at the ready (at J12).
Krog will move to behind a rock to see what is coming. (D11)
Krog Initiative 10
Krog will be ready with his longsword and shield should an enemy directly engages.
(OOC - I thought about hiding. But that is so not Krog's thing. Krog is let's fight or let's have an ale. Not much else.)
Ooc: LOL. Marza, agree on the tactics. This is not a very subtle group. Other than Alistair and whatever the new folks bring in.
Perception 17