Shae scans the lively room with a measured gaze, her expression neutral but sharp. Her eyes sweep over the curious glances aimed their way before settling on the barkeep. “Pik, the innkeeper’s son—anyone see him?” she asks her companions in a low tone, her voice edged with purpose. Adjusting her cloak to shield Ekko, she nods toward an unoccupied table in the corner. “Let's wait there, and let's keep it quiet; too many ears here could mean trouble.”
Before heading to the table, Shae approaches the bar, her tone firm but polite. “A round of drinks for the table. What's for dinner tonight? And are there any free rooms for the night?” She places a few coins on the counter, making it clear she's ready to pay for the group's comfort but still focused on their task. Her gaze lingers on the barkeep, as if expecting him to offer more information about Pik before she even asks directly.
Joy eagerly follows Shae's lead, heading over to the table and taking a seat while letting out a long sigh of relief. Her curious gaze takes in the the tavern's patrons, looking for anyone who stands out or appears like they might need help, but her weariness from the day outweighs even her helpful intentions.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Geren looks around, trying to spot Pik and keep an eye out for anything suspicious or noteworthy. The rogue's grinning from ear to ear, clearly all this is fun to him.
"Heh, it feels like it's been months since we started this. I don't know about the rest of you but I'm hungry enough for two dinners. Nothing like a near-death experience to whet your appetite."
Flopping into a seat at the table, Elyndor sighs in relief.
“Finally some time to sit and have a glass of wine. I’m sure the boy will be here, tonight or in the morning. Time for a feed and some rest.”
He gives the group an appreciative smile. “You’ve had a harder day than I. Eat, drink and be merry!”
He leans forward towards Joy. “Perhaps tonight I could make a start on mending your chain mail. I have a little magic trick that is just the thing, but it would mean mending each link individually.” He laughs. “It would probably be quicker taking it to the local smith, if there’s a lot of them damaged.”
Joy gives an enthusiastic smile at Geren and Elyndor's remarks. "Right! I think we did well, surviving our first day here. Getting to see another sunrise is always cause for celebration." She needs to remind herself of this as much as anyone.
As the wood elf mentions repairing her armor, Joy glances down to study the damage more closely. The piercing blows had been precise and powerful, but thankfully not deep enough to pierce through the back layer of her armor.
"Hm...Seems like it wasn't too bad--on the mail at least. There's no rush. Thank you for offering!"
Shae settles into her seat with measured movements, her dark eyes flitting over the room as if weighing each person’s worth. “I’ll leave the celebrating to you lot,” she mutters, leaning her elbows on the table. The fatigue from the day drapes over her like a heavy cloak, sapping whatever patience or cheer she might have had left. Her gaze lingers briefly on Joy’s damaged armor before darting toward the bar, watching for the barkeep’s reaction to her questions. “We’ll see how merry you feel when the sun’s up and we’re neck-deep in the Ravenswood again.” She absently taps her fingers on the table, adding dryly, “Let’s just hope this Pik doesn’t need pulling out of some trouble before we can rest. I’m not in the mood to play hero twice in one night.”
Shae scans the lively room with a measured gaze, her expression neutral but sharp. Her eyes sweep over the curious glances aimed their way before settling on the barkeep. “Pik, the innkeeper’s son—anyone see him?” she asks her companions in a low tone, her voice edged with purpose. Adjusting her cloak to shield Ekko, she nods toward an unoccupied table in the corner. “Let's wait there, and let's keep it quiet; too many ears here could mean trouble.”
Before heading to the table, Shae approaches the bar, her tone firm but polite. “A round of drinks for the table. What's for dinner tonight? And are there any free rooms for the night?” She places a few coins on the counter, making it clear she's ready to pay for the group's comfort but still focused on their task. Her gaze lingers on the barkeep, as if expecting him to offer more information about Pik before she even asks directly.
The barkeeper raises an eyebrow at the question, "You sure ye wanna git some kind of information from Pik?" He chuckles as he wipes down the bar. "His own pa gave up on that years ago. Lad has a knack for the wood but, umm, good luck gettin' anything out of him. He's all over these woods and even up in the mountains. Sort of a free roamer, if ya will. Usually in here a few times a week at least to see Daerin though."
Ely slumps back in his seat, listening to the barkeep's answer with interest. He raises an eyebrow. "Might be that nobody has asked the lad the right question yet," he says quietly to nobody in particular. Leaning forward he chuckles. "Might be better if we got him to show rather than tell. A few coins, he might willingly act as our guide." He considers this. "Or something else. He could well not be interested in money if he spends most of his time in the wilderness. Equipment."
"I'd hate to put Pik in danger by bringing him with us. He's been safe so far, but the Ravenswood...doesn't seem to like us, to put it lightly." Joy hangs her head in exhaustion, but perks back up after a moment as a thought occurs to her. "Maybe he'd rather draw out his answers for us? Like a game."
Shae rests her chin on her hand, her sharp features etched with weariness. “If this Pik is as elusive as the barkeep says, chasing him down might be just as maddening as the woods themselves,” she mutters, her voice laced with skepticism. Her dark eyes flick toward Elyndor. “But you’re not wrong. Everyone’s got their price—coin, tools, or flattery. Just depends on figuring out which.”
She leans back in her chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “I agree with Geren. We’re all spent, and tomorrow’s problems can stay there. Let’s hope this Pik doesn’t make us play riddles with him.”She taps her fingers idly on the table, the gesture hinting at her tired impatience. “For now, a meal, some sleep, and fewer questions. We’ll need clearer heads come morning.”
(Hey Joy! Just noticed you had dropped from the campaign and the Discord. Are you dropping out? By the way, I will hopefully be able to continue forward more once we get through holidays. Maybe before)
Sabetha stands motionless, breathing the stillness of the night air for a long moment despite the beckoning light and warmth of the inn.
What a strange and unnerving conversation. The mayor and the constable. One forceful and the other jaded, each holding secrets. I thought I would be escaping secrecy and plotting, so far from Waterdeep, yet this little mining town hidden by mountain and forest holds as many secrets as I brushed up against during my time in the City of Splendors. Perhaps if fate had not cut my training so desperately short, I would know how to navigate such depths...
She looks up at Selune and murmurs a soft prayer, yet her mind wanders. Why had the constable quirked a smile when she mentioned her devotion the Moon Maiden? Perhaps just my imagination. This test, I must pass better than the one before. To transform weakness into strength...
Only narrowly does the exterior door to the Olde Crowe open as a lithe half-elven figure makes her unobtrusive way inside.
Very young, simply garbed and unarmored, she pauses, her bound dark hair revealing traces of true red below where the artificial coloring has faded, pale green eyes regarding the common room as a fox might gaze upon a den of wolves. Indeed, just below her right eye, her cheek bears a silvery sigil, whether tattoo or paint, of a snow fox dashing through a winter tree-line, while below her left eye shine the silver traces of a crescent moon. The elegant hilt of an elven longsword pokes above one shoulder, crossed behind her back with the tip of a longbow. Her troubled eyes come to rest upon the party.
"Mayor Brodenbuck and Constable Arlayana seemed to indicate you might not be surprised at my arrival." She chews her lip subconsciously as she approaches and stands before the group, balanced on the balls of her feet like a dancer. Or an animal ready to dart away. "I am Sabetha Rai. Here to join you if you will have me. Apparently I have... agreed to a binding contract without being fully aware I was doing so."
Elyndor lifts his gaze to the newcomer, his expression shifting into a warm, welcoming smile. A cleric of Selûne, judging by his vestments.
His long, chestnut-brown hair, streaked faintly with silver, falls loosely around his shoulders, framing sharp, angular features and rich, dark skin. High cheekbones and elegantly pointed ears lend him an air of quiet grace, almost ageless in its refinement. But it is his eyes that are most striking—piercing yet kind, glowing softly like molten gold, as if they carry a fragment of divine light within them.
His gaze lingers on the cleric with quiet curiosity. “What is the significance of the running fox?” he asks, studying the newcomer’s face with keen interest.
Then, with a small, knowing smile, he adds,“I wouldn’t concern yourself too much with the constable or the mayor—at least not yet. They’re an unusual pair, those two, and I suspect they have secrets they’re not yet willing to part with.”
He gestures to an open seat. “Please, join us. Though I must warn you, we were just about to retire for the night. My name is Elyndor Mossvale. My friends just call me Ely.”
Shaephina Bloodmoon sits back in her chair, her chain shirt catching the dim tavern light, revealing the dark elven craftsmanship—practical, durable, yet oddly elegant in its interwoven rings. A deep midnight-blue cloak, slightly dusted from travel, drapes over her shoulders, its hood resting against the back of her seat. Beneath the armor, she wears a fitted tunic of charcoal gray, paired with dark leather bracers on her forearms. A simple silver chain hangs around her neck, the amulet tucked beneath her tunic. Her white hair --a sign of her half-drow heritage-- is tied loosely at the nape, a few errant strands framing her angular, dusky-hued face.
Her crimson eyes, sharp and assessing, flick over the half-elf as she speaks. There’s an ever-present guardedness to Shae, but no hostility—merely the careful scrutiny of someone accustomed to weighing a person’s worth before placing any trust in them. At last, she inclines her head in greeting. "Shaephina Bloodmoon," she states, her voice smooth but tired. "Shae, for short." She drums her fingers idly against the table before adding dryly, "Seems binding contracts are a trend in this town. You’re in good company." She gestures vaguely toward an empty seat. "You might as well sit. We’ve already paid for the drinks."
"The fox." Sabetha hesitates, then slowly sits, her fingers brushing her cheek. It is clear she is no priest, lacking vestments, holy symbol or other trappings.
"I named him Moonshadow, though I knew not his true name. I paid for his freedom from a trapper in the High Forest and the fox was my friend for a time. It seems like ages ago though it was only two years. My grandfather who was my master in the Way of Mercy - the spirit animal who chose him was a brown bear, strong and resilient. He thought Moonshadow, quick and agile, a fitting accompaniment to Selune's crescent in my novice's mask..."
A realization clicks into place for Sabetha. She inclines her head to Ely. "You are a priest of the Moon Maiden. My respects, father. I see now that this is likely why the Mayor and Constable favored me with wry, knowing expressions once they inferred my faith."
Turing to Shae, she smiles, albeit slightly uneasily. The instinctive distrust high elves, even high half-elf bastard children such as Sabetha, harbor for drow (even half-drow) being difficult to overcome. Yet Sabetha, despite her current reticence, seems a trusting person. Perhaps too trusting.
"Shae... you have already fought..." Sabetha looks at a momentary loss for words. "Fought whatever it is that is out there? I could not rightly comprehend the nature of the enemy, nor the challenges ahead from my cryptic conversation with Mayor Brodenbuck and Constable Arlayna."
Who knew how long the lone figure had been seated at his table in the Olde Crowe Inn? He had remained there in practiced solitude, watching the ebb and flow of patrons with an air of detachment that all but ensured his privacy. That suited him just fine—it allowed him to observe without the nuisance of idle conversation.
Even by elven standards, he was striking. His long, smoke-grey hair, tousled by the wind, still managed to frame his face in an almost deliberate elegance. His ice-blue eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked from table to table, catching fragments of whispered words and hushed exchanges. But it was the newest arrivals that held his interest. They had entered no more than twenty minutes prior, and his well-trained gaze had immediately discerned the signs of recent battle—scuffed armor, hurriedly wrapped wounds, the wary tension in their postures. What, exactly, they had fought was the question that intrigued him.
That, and the presence of a drow among them—an uncommon sight on the surface.
He had begun to focus on their conversation, listening with quiet intensity as he pieced together their purpose. They were seeking someone—"Pik," they called him—though their descriptions suggested the boy was more at home in the wilderness than in his father’s inn.
A slow, deliberate motion brought him to his feet, startling a group of patrons who had failed to notice his presence until now. With a casual adjustment of his leather gauntlet and the grey wool tunic beneath his dark, studded leather armor, he strode toward the table.
For all his grace, it was the weapon at his back that truly commanded curiosity. A sword, shifting slightly as he moved—not in unison with his steps, but with an unsettling, independent rhythm of its own. Its hilt, finely wrought of dark grey metal, rested against his shoulder, while the barest glimpse of its blade—a solid black sheen—peeked from its scabbard.
As he neared, he paused. Another figure had joined the group. Vaerion’s steps slowed, his keen ears catching the tail end of their exchange.
Then, without a sound, he appears beside the drow woman, his presence suddenly—imposingly—there.
A graceful bow.
A parchment, unfurled with deliberate precision, bearing the ornate insignia of a bounty hunters guild.
“I am Vaerion, of the Hunter’s Mark,” he said, his voice even, his tone cool but assured. “Forgive my intrusion, but I could not help but overhear—and I believe my expertise may be of some use to you.”
He allows a pause, just long enough to let his words settle before continuing,
“Tracking errant individuals is a particular skill of mine. And if it is Pik you seek, I would be more than willing to lend my talents to your cause… should you find that of interest.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his gaze.
Of course, they would.
Vaerion Nightingale:Eladrin |Bladsinger Lvl III| Member of the Hunter's Mark
Geren Alkis watches the newcomers with keen interest.
Years of learning secrets not meant for mortals hasn't robbed the half-elf of his boyish good looks. Green eyes, curly brown hair, and pale skin (the result of spending far too much time out of the sun) make him seem more like an artist than a seasoned rogue.
Still, the dagger and whip at his side and shortbow on his back make it clear he's ready for combat should it start.
Clapping his hands together Geren joins the rest of the group from where he'd been sitting.
"Wonderful! I love how this is all working out. So many delightful mysteries to solve and new people to solve them alongside!"
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Shae scans the lively room with a measured gaze, her expression neutral but sharp. Her eyes sweep over the curious glances aimed their way before settling on the barkeep. “Pik, the innkeeper’s son—anyone see him?” she asks her companions in a low tone, her voice edged with purpose. Adjusting her cloak to shield Ekko, she nods toward an unoccupied table in the corner. “Let's wait there, and let's keep it quiet; too many ears here could mean trouble.”
Before heading to the table, Shae approaches the bar, her tone firm but polite. “A round of drinks for the table. What's for dinner tonight? And are there any free rooms for the night?” She places a few coins on the counter, making it clear she's ready to pay for the group's comfort but still focused on their task. Her gaze lingers on the barkeep, as if expecting him to offer more information about Pik before she even asks directly.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
Joy eagerly follows Shae's lead, heading over to the table and taking a seat while letting out a long sigh of relief. Her curious gaze takes in the the tavern's patrons, looking for anyone who stands out or appears like they might need help, but her weariness from the day outweighs even her helpful intentions.
Insight: 7
Geren looks around, trying to spot Pik and keep an eye out for anything suspicious or noteworthy. The rogue's grinning from ear to ear, clearly all this is fun to him.
"Heh, it feels like it's been months since we started this. I don't know about the rest of you but I'm hungry enough for two dinners. Nothing like a near-death experience to whet your appetite."
Perception check:
11
Flopping into a seat at the table, Elyndor sighs in relief.
“Finally some time to sit and have a glass of wine. I’m sure the boy will be here, tonight or in the morning. Time for a feed and some rest.”
He gives the group an appreciative smile. “You’ve had a harder day than I. Eat, drink and be merry!”
He leans forward towards Joy. “Perhaps tonight I could make a start on mending your chain mail. I have a little magic trick that is just the thing, but it would mean mending each link individually.” He laughs. “It would probably be quicker taking it to the local smith, if there’s a lot of them damaged.”
Joy gives an enthusiastic smile at Geren and Elyndor's remarks. "Right! I think we did well, surviving our first day here. Getting to see another sunrise is always cause for celebration." She needs to remind herself of this as much as anyone.
As the wood elf mentions repairing her armor, Joy glances down to study the damage more closely. The piercing blows had been precise and powerful, but thankfully not deep enough to pierce through the back layer of her armor.
"Hm...Seems like it wasn't too bad--on the mail at least. There's no rush. Thank you for offering!"
Shae settles into her seat with measured movements, her dark eyes flitting over the room as if weighing each person’s worth. “I’ll leave the celebrating to you lot,” she mutters, leaning her elbows on the table. The fatigue from the day drapes over her like a heavy cloak, sapping whatever patience or cheer she might have had left. Her gaze lingers briefly on Joy’s damaged armor before darting toward the bar, watching for the barkeep’s reaction to her questions. “We’ll see how merry you feel when the sun’s up and we’re neck-deep in the Ravenswood again.” She absently taps her fingers on the table, adding dryly, “Let’s just hope this Pik doesn’t need pulling out of some trouble before we can rest. I’m not in the mood to play hero twice in one night.”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
The barkeeper raises an eyebrow at the question, "You sure ye wanna git some kind of information from Pik?" He chuckles as he wipes down the bar. "His own pa gave up on that years ago. Lad has a knack for the wood but, umm, good luck gettin' anything out of him. He's all over these woods and even up in the mountains. Sort of a free roamer, if ya will. Usually in here a few times a week at least to see Daerin though."
Daerin is the innkeeper.
Murder Court Discord OOC | Phandelver Discord OOC
Ely slumps back in his seat, listening to the barkeep's answer with interest. He raises an eyebrow. "Might be that nobody has asked the lad the right question yet," he says quietly to nobody in particular. Leaning forward he chuckles. "Might be better if we got him to show rather than tell. A few coins, he might willingly act as our guide." He considers this. "Or something else. He could well not be interested in money if he spends most of his time in the wilderness. Equipment."
"I'd hate to put Pik in danger by bringing him with us. He's been safe so far, but the Ravenswood...doesn't seem to like us, to put it lightly." Joy hangs her head in exhaustion, but perks back up after a moment as a thought occurs to her. "Maybe he'd rather draw out his answers for us? Like a game."
Geren shrugs.
"We're after secrets. All that matters is that we get them and not owe anyone more than we're willing to pay."
He yawns.
"Right now I'm exhausted though. We can decide how we're approaching this in the morning."
Shae rests her chin on her hand, her sharp features etched with weariness. “If this Pik is as elusive as the barkeep says, chasing him down might be just as maddening as the woods themselves,” she mutters, her voice laced with skepticism. Her dark eyes flick toward Elyndor. “But you’re not wrong. Everyone’s got their price—coin, tools, or flattery. Just depends on figuring out which.”
She leans back in her chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “I agree with Geren. We’re all spent, and tomorrow’s problems can stay there. Let’s hope this Pik doesn’t make us play riddles with him.” She taps her fingers idly on the table, the gesture hinting at her tired impatience. “For now, a meal, some sleep, and fewer questions. We’ll need clearer heads come morning.”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
(Hey Joy! Just noticed you had dropped from the campaign and the Discord. Are you dropping out? By the way, I will hopefully be able to continue forward more once we get through holidays. Maybe before)
Murder Court Discord OOC | Phandelver Discord OOC
((Oh, sorry! I thought it was dead for good -.-;; I'll rejoin since you are planning to continue.))
If anyone is missing from the Discord, please let me know and we will remedy that!
Murder Court Discord OOC | Phandelver Discord OOC
Sabetha stands motionless, breathing the stillness of the night air for a long moment despite the beckoning light and warmth of the inn.
What a strange and unnerving conversation. The mayor and the constable. One forceful and the other jaded, each holding secrets. I thought I would be escaping secrecy and plotting, so far from Waterdeep, yet this little mining town hidden by mountain and forest holds as many secrets as I brushed up against during my time in the City of Splendors. Perhaps if fate had not cut my training so desperately short, I would know how to navigate such depths...
She looks up at Selune and murmurs a soft prayer, yet her mind wanders. Why had the constable quirked a smile when she mentioned her devotion the Moon Maiden? Perhaps just my imagination. This test, I must pass better than the one before. To transform weakness into strength...
Only narrowly does the exterior door to the Olde Crowe open as a lithe half-elven figure makes her unobtrusive way inside.
Very young, simply garbed and unarmored, she pauses, her bound dark hair revealing traces of true red below where the artificial coloring has faded, pale green eyes regarding the common room as a fox might gaze upon a den of wolves. Indeed, just below her right eye, her cheek bears a silvery sigil, whether tattoo or paint, of a snow fox dashing through a winter tree-line, while below her left eye shine the silver traces of a crescent moon. The elegant hilt of an elven longsword pokes above one shoulder, crossed behind her back with the tip of a longbow. Her troubled eyes come to rest upon the party.
"Mayor Brodenbuck and Constable Arlayana seemed to indicate you might not be surprised at my arrival." She chews her lip subconsciously as she approaches and stands before the group, balanced on the balls of her feet like a dancer. Or an animal ready to dart away. "I am Sabetha Rai. Here to join you if you will have me. Apparently I have... agreed to a binding contract without being fully aware I was doing so."
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall|Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles|Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil|Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft|Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS|Ophelia(Sorcerer3): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request|Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return|Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Elyndor lifts his gaze to the newcomer, his expression shifting into a warm, welcoming smile. A cleric of Selûne, judging by his vestments.
His long, chestnut-brown hair, streaked faintly with silver, falls loosely around his shoulders, framing sharp, angular features and rich, dark skin. High cheekbones and elegantly pointed ears lend him an air of quiet grace, almost ageless in its refinement. But it is his eyes that are most striking—piercing yet kind, glowing softly like molten gold, as if they carry a fragment of divine light within them.
His gaze lingers on the cleric with quiet curiosity. “What is the significance of the running fox?” he asks, studying the newcomer’s face with keen interest.
Then, with a small, knowing smile, he adds, “I wouldn’t concern yourself too much with the constable or the mayor—at least not yet. They’re an unusual pair, those two, and I suspect they have secrets they’re not yet willing to part with.”
He gestures to an open seat. “Please, join us. Though I must warn you, we were just about to retire for the night. My name is Elyndor Mossvale. My friends just call me Ely.”
Shaephina Bloodmoon sits back in her chair, her chain shirt catching the dim tavern light, revealing the dark elven craftsmanship—practical, durable, yet oddly elegant in its interwoven rings. A deep midnight-blue cloak, slightly dusted from travel, drapes over her shoulders, its hood resting against the back of her seat. Beneath the armor, she wears a fitted tunic of charcoal gray, paired with dark leather bracers on her forearms. A simple silver chain hangs around her neck, the amulet tucked beneath her tunic. Her white hair --a sign of her half-drow heritage-- is tied loosely at the nape, a few errant strands framing her angular, dusky-hued face.
Her crimson eyes, sharp and assessing, flick over the half-elf as she speaks. There’s an ever-present guardedness to Shae, but no hostility—merely the careful scrutiny of someone accustomed to weighing a person’s worth before placing any trust in them. At last, she inclines her head in greeting. "Shaephina Bloodmoon," she states, her voice smooth but tired. "Shae, for short." She drums her fingers idly against the table before adding dryly, "Seems binding contracts are a trend in this town. You’re in good company." She gestures vaguely toward an empty seat. "You might as well sit. We’ve already paid for the drinks."
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
"The fox." Sabetha hesitates, then slowly sits, her fingers brushing her cheek. It is clear she is no priest, lacking vestments, holy symbol or other trappings.
"I named him Moonshadow, though I knew not his true name. I paid for his freedom from a trapper in the High Forest and the fox was my friend for a time. It seems like ages ago though it was only two years. My grandfather who was my master in the Way of Mercy - the spirit animal who chose him was a brown bear, strong and resilient. He thought Moonshadow, quick and agile, a fitting accompaniment to Selune's crescent in my novice's mask..."
A realization clicks into place for Sabetha. She inclines her head to Ely. "You are a priest of the Moon Maiden. My respects, father. I see now that this is likely why the Mayor and Constable favored me with wry, knowing expressions once they inferred my faith."
Turing to Shae, she smiles, albeit slightly uneasily. The instinctive distrust high elves, even high half-elf bastard children such as Sabetha, harbor for drow (even half-drow) being difficult to overcome. Yet Sabetha, despite her current reticence, seems a trusting person. Perhaps too trusting.
"Shae... you have already fought..." Sabetha looks at a momentary loss for words. "Fought whatever it is that is out there? I could not rightly comprehend the nature of the enemy, nor the challenges ahead from my cryptic conversation with Mayor Brodenbuck and Constable Arlayna."
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall|Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles|Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil|Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft|Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS|Ophelia(Sorcerer3): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request|Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return|Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Who knew how long the lone figure had been seated at his table in the Olde Crowe Inn? He had remained there in practiced solitude, watching the ebb and flow of patrons with an air of detachment that all but ensured his privacy. That suited him just fine—it allowed him to observe without the nuisance of idle conversation.
Even by elven standards, he was striking. His long, smoke-grey hair, tousled by the wind, still managed to frame his face in an almost deliberate elegance. His ice-blue eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked from table to table, catching fragments of whispered words and hushed exchanges. But it was the newest arrivals that held his interest. They had entered no more than twenty minutes prior, and his well-trained gaze had immediately discerned the signs of recent battle—scuffed armor, hurriedly wrapped wounds, the wary tension in their postures. What, exactly, they had fought was the question that intrigued him.
That, and the presence of a drow among them—an uncommon sight on the surface.
He had begun to focus on their conversation, listening with quiet intensity as he pieced together their purpose. They were seeking someone—"Pik," they called him—though their descriptions suggested the boy was more at home in the wilderness than in his father’s inn.
A slow, deliberate motion brought him to his feet, startling a group of patrons who had failed to notice his presence until now. With a casual adjustment of his leather gauntlet and the grey wool tunic beneath his dark, studded leather armor, he strode toward the table.
For all his grace, it was the weapon at his back that truly commanded curiosity. A sword, shifting slightly as he moved—not in unison with his steps, but with an unsettling, independent rhythm of its own. Its hilt, finely wrought of dark grey metal, rested against his shoulder, while the barest glimpse of its blade—a solid black sheen—peeked from its scabbard.
As he neared, he paused. Another figure had joined the group. Vaerion’s steps slowed, his keen ears catching the tail end of their exchange.
Then, without a sound, he appears beside the drow woman, his presence suddenly—imposingly—there.
A graceful bow.
A parchment, unfurled with deliberate precision, bearing the ornate insignia of a bounty hunters guild.
“I am Vaerion, of the Hunter’s Mark,” he said, his voice even, his tone cool but assured. “Forgive my intrusion, but I could not help but overhear—and I believe my expertise may be of some use to you.”
He allows a pause, just long enough to let his words settle before continuing,
“Tracking errant individuals is a particular skill of mine. And if it is Pik you seek, I would be more than willing to lend my talents to your cause… should you find that of interest.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his gaze.
Of course, they would.
Vaerion Nightingale: Eladrin |Bladsinger Lvl III| Member of the Hunter's Mark
Geren Alkis watches the newcomers with keen interest.
Years of learning secrets not meant for mortals hasn't robbed the half-elf of his boyish good looks. Green eyes, curly brown hair, and pale skin (the result of spending far too much time out of the sun) make him seem more like an artist than a seasoned rogue.
Still, the dagger and whip at his side and shortbow on his back make it clear he's ready for combat should it start.
Clapping his hands together Geren joins the rest of the group from where he'd been sitting.
"Wonderful! I love how this is all working out. So many delightful mysteries to solve and new people to solve them alongside!"