Iólinder will focus on getting sleep and getting better... Unless something is an emergency.
He assumes they will be heading out soon, moving the assault on this town to the top of the priority list.
"How much for the map? I'm not going to remember all that in my current state?" Iólinder asks the half-orc as he rises and prepares to find a place to rest.
Lira will find a quiet area in the inn to perform the ritual for find familiar, summoning a snowy owl. She sends it to perch on the inn's roof and alert them if enemies approach during the night.
Vydar stays uncharacteristically quiet as the others converse with the townsfolk. Mention of the fire wizard sparks his interest, perhaps he can stea--- learn some of the man's spells. He continues listening as he eats his stew. He doesn't show it, but he's glad Iolinder and Amdaeng seemed to receive healing without any problems. Though he feels like these people are far to trusting in giving them aid, how do they know he and his party will actually follow through with helping the town? Not that he would just ignore the problem, especially after his group promised to help them... but these people are clearly desperate, and he can't help but feel like the actions of him and his party are partially to blame for it. Why the enemy would target one specific girl is quite odd though.
Finishing up his food and drink, he gets up and heads of to wherever his room is.
everyone retires for the evening, some not having the strength to put up much of a fight.
(For Lira)
your owl wakes you up at midnight.
There are huge wolf like creatures roaming the streets. Moon Dogs are immense, mystical beings that resemble towering arctic wolves, standing over 8 feet tall at the shoulder when on all fours, and reaching even greater heights when rearing up. Covered in thick pale-grey to snow-white fur, they blend seamlessly with frozen landscapes.
Lira pets the owl, whispering a words of thanks. She knows that the others are still recovering and need their rest; even at full strength, taking on many of the wolf-like creatures could turn deadly. She lets the owl stay inside the rest of the night.
Most get a sort of restless sleep. At one point, some are roused by distant noises, screams and yells but are too exhausted from the cold, illness, and long travel in the mountains. the bed assigned for Morric is unslept in. He mentioned something about helping the night watch. It seems he has not yet returned. Iolinder and Amdaeng are fully recovered but both have a headache.
the smell of breakfast and the noises of early risers can be heard in the common room below.
The strong looking Northman from last night sits by himself, having some porridge. Rumors circulate of two more townsfolk missing.
(OOC: We have a new player joining us!!!!! Please welcome Ragnor_Lothbrok to the game, and as he introduces himself, you can each describe your appearance, etc., that would be helpful. Rag plays with me in another game and my understanding is that he is a fairly new player).
Jherak stumbles into the Inn in search of a warm meal and to recover the feeling in his appendages. He always thought of himself as someone who could outlast most, even in the toughest of climates. But the conditions in these parts has called him to question his own toughness. Maybe he wasn’t who he thought he was after all.
He barely registers anyone else in the inn. He orders food and sits as close to the fire as possible. It’s seem like ages since he had his last meal and warmed himself by a fire. It’s all he can focus on. Once he has done both, he recognizes there are others around. Without drawing attention to himself, he scans the room for friendly faces.
Jherak realizes that yet another night has gone by with the town of Silverton being threatened by the moon wolves. Since he left, there are now more frozen townsfolk who have been frozen solid by the coven's witches. Entering the the Hanging Party Inn, he sees a group of outsiders gathering for what little breakfast is available this cold bitter morning. They seem well equipped, and not in the same demoralized state as the rest of the town.
Iólinder descends the stairs with renewed vigor. Finally free of both a physical ailment that was beginning to cripple him and a self doubt that might have proven even more dangerous, he seems more aware of his surroundings and who he has always been.
Clad in well cared for half-plate (he was up early tending to his gear) and displaying the holy symbols of Telak and Libra, the Cleric scans the room ready to face a new day.
As good as he feels about himself though, he is fully aware of the duties that await them all and begins going over a mental list of priorities until his allies wake.
He notices a rugged looking and unfamiliar face and gives a friendly nod as he sits and waits to order a meal.
Iólinder is greeted by the silent innkeeper with the frozen jaw once again. He points to a limited menu which includes biscuits, biscuits and gravy, and porridge. He puts both hands up and shakes his head, knowing full well that it is inadequate.
The woman in the corner who was there last night is asleep at the table. Her Tarot cards scattered about, a glass of spilled wine staining the table.
The other table with wood filings beneath, has the names of over twenty individuals carved into it.
Waking up suddenly, Lev takes a moment to stare at his medallion. Whatever is going on with him is getting... could he say worse? No that felt wrong... more intense? He shut his eyes, pressing his palm to his eyelids as he tried to reason with himself. Something was going on and he didn't have any answers for it aside from... well his suspicions. It was time he actually spoke to Iolinder. Perhaps a cleric of Libra could provide some answers.
After getting dressed he heads down the stairs and looks around for his comrades. Seeing Iolinder sitting with a stranger, he walks over slowly...
Lev is an elf with grey skin and steel silver hair that fades to white, he wears dark studded leather with a dark brown cloak. He carries with him a glaive with engravings on its haft, along with his other belongings.
Walking up to Iolinder he says in a low tone, "Do you... have a moment?" He sounds hesitant, glancing at the stranger before looking back to Iolinder, "I need to talk to you."Iolinder would likely remember that Lev had wanted to talk to him about something days ago but had apparently decided it could wait due to the sickness that Iolinder was dealing with... and then their venture to destroy the anvil.
Vydar yawns loudly, stretching his arms as he descends the stairs. Normally he's one of the last of the group to wake up, however he'd gotten sick of waking up multiple times and never seeming to stay asleep or in an a trance for long enough to actually get much rest out of it. Looking around he sees Lev and Iolinder talking, and notes the Northman sitting in the same corner he'd been in last night. He pauses as he debates on whether or not he should go over to Lev and Iolinder's table... but he gets the feeling that Lev might a one on one with the cleric. Whatever, those two aren't his favorite companions anyway. Shrugging he tells the bartender that he'd like Biscuits and gravy then finds an empty table.
Vydar is a young Dark elf with white hair that fades to black at it's tips. His bright red eyes stand out against the charcoal skin of his face. His clothes are clearly worn due to age and are all dark in color. He wears a dark grey scarf around his neck and carries a leather satchel as well as a rapier at his hip. Overall he has a very roguish appearance.
Amdaeng sprang down the stairs with Ning ambling at her heels feeling far better than she had in days. She grinned at everyone and tried not to turn her nose up at the proffered food despite really wanting a bowl of jok instead....
Amdaeng is a slight but wiry young woman fairly obviously from the Chiang Mai province and the city of Fang in particular, she is wearing her leather parka over fisherman's trousers and a loose blouse though the cold weather has her also favouring a leather vest and lined boots....her hair is short but has grown out a little since beginning her time in the mountains. Her fists, elbows, feet, knees and shins are calloused and solid and a daab is strapped across her back and brass knuckles dangle at her waist.
She is accompanied by a dire bear.......though one about the size of a medium to large dog.
Lira descends the creaking stairs quietly, boots making little sound on the worn wood. The half-elf's pale skin catches the weak morning light spilling through the shutters, and the striking contrast of her half-white, half-black hair draws more than a few curious glances from early risers. Her green eyes scan the common room with a practiced, cautious sweep. Perched on her shoulder is a freshly summoned snowy owl, feathers still faintly shimmering as though the magic that called it hasn’t fully faded. From the side of her satchel, Snowball the skunk’s inquisitive little snout pokes out, whiskers twitching at the scent of breakfast.
Lira wears practical, close-fitted rogue’s leathers in shades of deep grey and muted green, the kind that blend easily into shadow or woodland. Her cloak is weatherworn but well-kept, its hood trimmed with a faint fur lining for warmth in the mountain chill. A whip and shortsword hang on her sides, while a shortbow and quiver rest across her back. Tucked into her belt is also a slender, polished druidic wand of pale birch carved with curling leaf motifs--an odd pairing that hints at her dual nature.
The blue amulet she wears glistens against her throat, the crystal in its choker catching the firelight as she orders the biscuits and gravy as well and moves to sit at the same table as Vydar. She offers the Northman a polite nod before sitting, her demeanor calm but alert, already noting the shifting voices around her and the rumors of yet more townsfolk missing. Without a word, she strokes the owl’s feathers absently, listening.
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Iólinder will focus on getting sleep and getting better... Unless something is an emergency.
He assumes they will be heading out soon, moving the assault on this town to the top of the priority list.
"How much for the map? I'm not going to remember all that in my current state?" Iólinder asks the half-orc as he rises and prepares to find a place to rest.
“Hum, I’ve grown quite fond of this town. If you help the people here, your doing them a great service. If you bring it back, I’ll loan it to ya.”
"a trade then." Iólinder will remove the scale mail her no longer wears from his pack.
"Perhaps this will be of use here protecting the people while we're gone?
Lira will find a quiet area in the inn to perform the ritual for find familiar, summoning a snowy owl. She sends it to perch on the inn's roof and alert them if enemies approach during the night.
Vydar stays uncharacteristically quiet as the others converse with the townsfolk. Mention of the fire wizard sparks his interest, perhaps he can stea--- learn some of the man's spells. He continues listening as he eats his stew. He doesn't show it, but he's glad Iolinder and Amdaeng seemed to receive healing without any problems. Though he feels like these people are far to trusting in giving them aid, how do they know he and his party will actually follow through with helping the town? Not that he would just ignore the problem, especially after his group promised to help them... but these people are clearly desperate, and he can't help but feel like the actions of him and his party are partially to blame for it. Why the enemy would target one specific girl is quite odd though.
Finishing up his food and drink, he gets up and heads of to wherever his room is.
everyone retires for the evening, some not having the strength to put up much of a fight.
(For Lira)
your owl wakes you up at midnight.
There are huge wolf like creatures roaming the streets.
Moon Dogs are immense, mystical beings that resemble towering arctic wolves, standing over 8 feet tall at the shoulder when on all fours, and reaching even greater heights when rearing up. Covered in thick pale-grey to snow-white fur, they blend seamlessly with frozen landscapes.
Lira pets the owl, whispering a words of thanks. She knows that the others are still recovering and need their rest; even at full strength, taking on many of the wolf-like creatures could turn deadly. She lets the owl stay inside the rest of the night.
Amdaeng sleeps as much as she can, thinking there is not much chance of finding a safe place to rest in Blacksand.
Most get a sort of restless sleep. At one point, some are roused by distant noises, screams and yells but are too exhausted from the cold, illness, and long travel in the mountains.
the bed assigned for Morric is unslept in. He mentioned something about helping the night watch. It seems he has not yet returned.
Iolinder and Amdaeng are fully recovered but both have a headache.
the smell of breakfast and the noises of early risers can be heard in the common room below.
The strong looking Northman from last night sits by himself, having some porridge. Rumors circulate of two more townsfolk missing.
(OOC: We have a new player joining us!!!!! Please welcome Ragnor_Lothbrok to the game, and as he introduces himself, you can each describe your appearance, etc., that would be helpful. Rag plays with me in another game and my understanding is that he is a fairly new player).
Jherak stumbles into the Inn in search of a warm meal and to recover the feeling in his appendages. He always thought of himself as someone who could outlast most, even in the toughest of climates. But the conditions in these parts has called him to question his own toughness. Maybe he wasn’t who he thought he was after all.
He barely registers anyone else in the inn. He orders food and sits as close to the fire as possible. It’s seem like ages since he had his last meal and warmed himself by a fire. It’s all he can focus on. Once he has done both, he recognizes there are others around. Without drawing attention to himself, he scans the room for friendly faces.
Jherak realizes that yet another night has gone by with the town of Silverton being threatened by the moon wolves. Since he left, there are now more frozen townsfolk who have been frozen solid by the coven's witches. Entering the the Hanging Party Inn, he sees a group of outsiders gathering for what little breakfast is available this cold bitter morning. They seem well equipped, and not in the same demoralized state as the rest of the town.
Iólinder descends the stairs with renewed vigor. Finally free of both a physical ailment that was beginning to cripple him and a self doubt that might have proven even more dangerous, he seems more aware of his surroundings and who he has always been.
Clad in well cared for half-plate (he was up early tending to his gear) and displaying the holy symbols of Telak and Libra, the Cleric scans the room ready to face a new day.
As good as he feels about himself though, he is fully aware of the duties that await them all and begins going over a mental list of priorities until his allies wake.
He notices a rugged looking and unfamiliar face and gives a friendly nod as he sits and waits to order a meal.
Iólinder is greeted by the silent innkeeper with the frozen jaw once again. He points to a limited menu which includes biscuits, biscuits and gravy, and porridge. He puts both hands up and shakes his head, knowing full well that it is inadequate.
The woman in the corner who was there last night is asleep at the table. Her Tarot cards scattered about, a glass of spilled wine staining the table.
The other table with wood filings beneath, has the names of over twenty individuals carved into it.
Waking up suddenly, Lev takes a moment to stare at his medallion. Whatever is going on with him is getting... could he say worse? No that felt wrong... more intense? He shut his eyes, pressing his palm to his eyelids as he tried to reason with himself. Something was going on and he didn't have any answers for it aside from... well his suspicions. It was time he actually spoke to Iolinder. Perhaps a cleric of Libra could provide some answers.
After getting dressed he heads down the stairs and looks around for his comrades. Seeing Iolinder sitting with a stranger, he walks over slowly...
Lev is an elf with grey skin and steel silver hair that fades to white, he wears dark studded leather with a dark brown cloak. He carries with him a glaive with engravings on its haft, along with his other belongings.
Walking up to Iolinder he says in a low tone, "Do you... have a moment?" He sounds hesitant, glancing at the stranger before looking back to Iolinder, "I need to talk to you." Iolinder would likely remember that Lev had wanted to talk to him about something days ago but had apparently decided it could wait due to the sickness that Iolinder was dealing with... and then their venture to destroy the anvil.
Vydar yawns loudly, stretching his arms as he descends the stairs. Normally he's one of the last of the group to wake up, however he'd gotten sick of waking up multiple times and never seeming to stay asleep or in an a trance for long enough to actually get much rest out of it. Looking around he sees Lev and Iolinder talking, and notes the Northman sitting in the same corner he'd been in last night. He pauses as he debates on whether or not he should go over to Lev and Iolinder's table... but he gets the feeling that Lev might a one on one with the cleric. Whatever, those two aren't his favorite companions anyway. Shrugging he tells the bartender that he'd like Biscuits and gravy then finds an empty table.
Vydar is a young Dark elf with white hair that fades to black at it's tips. His bright red eyes stand out against the charcoal skin of his face. His clothes are clearly worn due to age and are all dark in color. He wears a dark grey scarf around his neck and carries a leather satchel as well as a rapier at his hip. Overall he has a very roguish appearance.
Amdaeng sprang down the stairs with Ning ambling at her heels feeling far better than she had in days. She grinned at everyone and tried not to turn her nose up at the proffered food despite really wanting a bowl of jok instead....
Amdaeng is a slight but wiry young woman fairly obviously from the Chiang Mai province and the city of Fang in particular, she is wearing her leather parka over fisherman's trousers and a loose blouse though the cold weather has her also favouring a leather vest and lined boots....her hair is short but has grown out a little since beginning her time in the mountains. Her fists, elbows, feet, knees and shins are calloused and solid and a daab is strapped across her back and brass knuckles dangle at her waist.
She is accompanied by a dire bear.......though one about the size of a medium to large dog.
Lira descends the creaking stairs quietly, boots making little sound on the worn wood. The half-elf's pale skin catches the weak morning light spilling through the shutters, and the striking contrast of her half-white, half-black hair draws more than a few curious glances from early risers. Her green eyes scan the common room with a practiced, cautious sweep. Perched on her shoulder is a freshly summoned snowy owl, feathers still faintly shimmering as though the magic that called it hasn’t fully faded. From the side of her satchel, Snowball the skunk’s inquisitive little snout pokes out, whiskers twitching at the scent of breakfast.
Lira wears practical, close-fitted rogue’s leathers in shades of deep grey and muted green, the kind that blend easily into shadow or woodland. Her cloak is weatherworn but well-kept, its hood trimmed with a faint fur lining for warmth in the mountain chill. A whip and shortsword hang on her sides, while a shortbow and quiver rest across her back. Tucked into her belt is also a slender, polished druidic wand of pale birch carved with curling leaf motifs--an odd pairing that hints at her dual nature.
The blue amulet she wears glistens against her throat, the crystal in its choker catching the firelight as she orders the biscuits and gravy as well and moves to sit at the same table as Vydar. She offers the Northman a polite nod before sitting, her demeanor calm but alert, already noting the shifting voices around her and the rumors of yet more townsfolk missing. Without a word, she strokes the owl’s feathers absently, listening.