Sharn rolled out of bed and thudded on the floor, blankets and all. He peeled himself off the cocoon of cloth and stood hazily from the floor. "I'm up. Thank you Glynnis" He said.
He looked at the clothes and frowned, but the water is what squeezed a deep sigh out of him. There was no escape from a dreaded bath. It wasn't all bad. Sharn tried to decipher the shapes that formed on the muck that he scrubbed out of himself. He swore one of the chunks of dirt looked like a rabbit, whatever that might mean. Clean and combed, he then looked at the clothes. They were of a more traditional dwarven style. Sharn frowned again, he had grown so accustomed to nomadic garments that this felt foreign to him. The shirt was comfortable, however, and the pants fit remarkably well. He wondered how they had guessed his measurements, before starting his way downstairs.
Hastos smiles a bit nervously. “It’s… it’s all I have.” He replies to Glynnis.
“I appreciate anything you have.” He adds appreciatively. . Clearly the thought of being surrounded by people and not going armored is unsettling to him. But in the spirit of not undoing all the progress they’ve made, Hastos leaves the armor in the room and dons the clothing Glynnis gives him.
Hastos receives a plain brown tunic made of deer-hide for the torso and cotton for the sleeves. It's baggy enough to wear armor under the shirt, but crops a little short at the belly button. The leather breeches are black, and too losse about the waist, but a braided belt with a large copper buckle is included to cinche it. Once on, they look kind of like capris pants, riding up to the calves. Dwarven clothes aren't the perfect fit for elven frames, but the materials were nice, in good condition, and soft to the skin. Glynnis had the wherewithall to find you some tall boots that go nearly up the the knee to cover the gap. And clasps are provided to attach your trademark cape. She also managed to include some loc-rings, engraved with dwarven symbols in case you intend to braid your hair, as well as a locket with a common gem looped into it.
As you're dressing, you hear Sharn grumbling about being woken up.
Sharn rolled out of bed and thudded on the floor, blankets and all. He peeled himself off the cocoon of cloth and stood hazily from the floor. "I'm up. Thank you Glynnis" He said.
He looked at the clothes and frowned, but the water is what squeezed a deep sigh out of him. There was no escape from a dreaded bath. It wasn't all bad. Sharn tried to decipher the shapes that formed on the muck that he scrubbed out of himself. He swore one of the chunks of dirt looked like a rabbit, whatever that might mean. Clean and combed, he then looked at the clothes. They were of a more traditional dwarven style. Sharn frowned again, he had grown so accustomed to nomadic garments that this felt foreign to him. The shirt was comfortable, however, and the pants fit remarkably well. He wondered how they had guessed his measurements, before starting his way downstairs.
Once Glynnis hears Sharn's confirmation, she grunts and moves on to Sera's room.
Sera hears a rap on her door, and Glynnis clears her throat. "Sera? We're gonna unlock tha' door once yer dressed an' ready. Staff is waitin' downstairs for ye ta announce yer ready to begin."
Hastos is delighted at the clothes and thanks Glynnis sincerely. He also takes the braid locks and decides he’s going to really make the most of the evening and braid his hair! He decides to create two braids on either side of his head, just behind his ears.
(Dex: 5) Hastos is so enthusiastic about braiding his hair he never stops to think that he has no idea how to braid hair. As he finishes and puts the last loc in, he beams with pride. The braids are… there, but they lack any sense of design, consistency, or forethought. They did follow the flow of his hair, so in a sense one could say he was successful.
He puts on the necklace, and the boots and heads back down to the hall.
"Hello, Merkas! The rest of your party is finishing getting ready upstairs. Your room is ready and there's water for a bath. We'll unlock the doors soon. Please come inside!" They say with an unpracticed bow. Their voice is strange and otherworldly, but gentle sounding... not the raspy squeakiness of a goblin. "My name is Sky. It's such an honor to meet you again," they say as you enter the room. "You escorted me, and a bunch of other refugees, through the desert. So you might not remember me. But to me, you were a life saver. I collapsed in the desert, and you brought me a cup of water. And your jokes always helped to lift our spirits!" They laugh, a short chuckle paired with a sincere smile. "I never got to thank you for that." They bow again. "Thank you so much."
Squinting at his greeter as if he were much older and had bad eyesight"Eh, Wuzzat, Sky you say? My you've grown. You were such a small girl when we met last, so mature and respectable now. How's your mother?" Grinning widely as he stops the charade "Yeah, Sure am glad we didn't loose anyone on that trip, wasn't any fun trudging through that wilderness. Say, you think I can get away with not washing up? There's so much to do I wouldn't wanna miss anything." Catching sight of Glynnis as she comes back from his companions rooms "On second thought, I better just go and do it, Glynnis likely has even Sharn washing up so there ain't no way I will get away with not. What you think I should wear, maybe just my regular attire so's I can be recognized, or should I dress all up nice and neat?" Putting on an air of sophistication as he finished his question he starts heading towards the rooms, moving slow enough to hear Sky's response before quickening his step to get washed up "Oh and be sure Kasi and Barkly get their share of the food tonight too please!"
Hastos is delighted at the clothes and thanks Glynnis sincerely. He also takes the braid locks and decides he’s going to really make the most of the evening and braid his hair! He decides to create two braids on either side of his head, just behind his ears.
(Dex: 5) Hastos is so enthusiastic about braiding his hair he never stops to think that he has no idea how to braid hair. As he finishes and puts the last loc in, he beams with pride. The braids are… there, but they lack any sense of design, consistency, or forethought. They did follow the flow of his hair, so in the sense one could say he was successful.
He puts on the necklace, and the boots and heads back down to the hall.
Glynnis gives you an appraising look as you descend the stairs and nods a confirmation of satisfaction. "Ye look sharp. Let me eh.... lemme fix that fer ye." True to her nature, Glynnis waves for you to sit at a stool, and (if you are ok with it) commences to re-braiding your hair. "Normally, these loc-rings'd go in yer beard, but I don't think that peach fuzz'll have it. I'll slick it up with some scented oil, an' have ye looking like a nobleman in no time." Once she's done, your beard looks thicker and smoother, and tapers to a fine point and the chin. Your moustache is swept into a part to frame your lips and curled slightly at each edge giving you a noble appearance. She frames the braids around the crown of your skull and down the center, giving you the appearance of a crown, feeding the loc-rings in at strategic points to accentuate the looks. Once the work is done, she shows you a mirror. "There ye go..."
"Hello, Merkas! The rest of your party is finishing getting ready upstairs. Your room is ready and there's water for a bath. We'll unlock the doors soon. Please come inside!" They say with an unpracticed bow. Their voice is strange and otherworldly, but gentle sounding... not the raspy squeakiness of a goblin. "My name is Sky. It's such an honor to meet you again," they say as you enter the room. "You escorted me, and a bunch of other refugees, through the desert. So you might not remember me. But to me, you were a life saver. I collapsed in the desert, and you brought me a cup of water. And your jokes always helped to lift our spirits!" They laugh, a short chuckle paired with a sincere smile. "I never got to thank you for that." They bow again. "Thank you so much."
Squinting at his greeter as if he were much older and had bad eyesight"Eh, Wuzzat, Sky you say? My you've grown. You were such a small girl when we met last, so mature and respectable now. How's your mother?" Grinning widely as he stops the charade "Yeah, Sure am glad we didn't loose anyone on that trip, wasn't any fun trudging through that wilderness. Say, you think I can get away with not washing up? There's so much to do I wouldn't wanna miss anything." Catching sight of Glynnis as she comes back from his companions rooms "On second thought, I better just go and do it, Glynnis likely has even Sharn washing up so there ain't no way I will get away with not. What you think I should wear, maybe just my regular attire so's I can be recognized, or should I dress all up nice and neat?" Putting on an air of sophistication as he finished his question he starts heading towards the rooms, moving slow enough to hear Sky's response before quickening his step to get washed up "Oh and be sure Kasi and Barkly get their share of the food tonight too please!"
Sky takes a moment to get your impression as a joke, and then bends backwards and laughs genuinely when they finally understand the ruse. Your barrage of questions tickles them equally, and you sense a kindred spirit in their ability to keep up with your freeform thinking. "Yeah... I'd definitely scrub up. Glynnis is on a warpath for making sure everyone looks their best tonight." They gesture over to Hastos getting fussed over by Glynnis. "If you don't have anything to wear, I might have something you could borrow." They draw their hand across the top of their head to the top of yours. "I'm a little taller than you, but I think I can make it work. Would you prefer a suit, or a dress?" They say with a cheery smile.
The other servers are setting up targets along a patch of wall that has been cleared of tables, and affixing eggs to them.
Sera dresses slowly—it feels strange to wear something fine. She never had the chance before. Most of her life has been rags and armor.
She slips on the boots, their dyed blue leather matching the gown. The heels are slightly higher than she’s used to, but manageable. For a long moment, she debates whether to go unarmed. Then she remembers: this town is crawling with cultists, rivals, and worse.
With quiet resolve, she straps her sword hilt to her thigh, hidden beneath the gown’s split. It's awkward, but necessary.
She gathers the last of her spell components—just the essentials. A feather, and a small prayer scroll. The scroll she tucks into her garter belt, the feather into a pocket sewn into the lining.
Sera takes a final look in the mirror. Then hang her suymbol of Paladine over her neck. The Silvery amulet feature the paladin dragon make her feel safe.
A part of her almost wishes she were off to fight a monster. That would be easier than this.
She exhales. Then steps out into the hall.
“I’m ready,” she tells Glynnis, voice steady. “Let’s face this.”
Sera dresses slowly—it feels strange to wear something fine. She never had the chance before. Most of her life has been rags and armor.
She slips on the boots, their dyed blue leather matching the gown. The heels are slightly higher than she’s used to, but manageable. For a long moment, she debates whether to go unarmed. Then she remembers: this town is crawling with cultists, rivals, and worse.
With quiet resolve, she straps her sword hilt to her thigh, hidden beneath the gown’s split. It's awkward, but necessary.
She gathers the last of her spell components—just the essentials. A feather, and a small prayer scroll. The scroll she tucks into her garter belt, the feather into a pocket sewn into the lining.
Sera takes a final look in the mirror. Then hang her suymbol of Paladine over her neck. The Silvery amulet feature the paladin dragon make her feel safe.
A part of her almost wishes she were off to fight a monster. That would be easier than this.
She exhales. Then steps out into the hall.
“I’m ready,” she tells Glynnis, voice steady. “Let’s face this.”
Glynnis gasps as she see's Sera, looking positively radiant in blue. "Oh lass!" she says, biting her knuckle to calm herself. "Yer tha picture o' perfection! I ne'er seen..." she waves her hands and squeals in an manner unusually girly for her general behavior. "Ach, I can't wait!" Her guidiness is only slightly diminished as she continues on. "Now if only Sharn an' Merkas'll announce their readiness, we can open the doors! I'll go do final checks." She scurries off to check on the kitchen where Handar and his assistant are scrubbing up after finishing all the prep.
The staff, about 15 of them, are milling about. Those who prefer dresses are wearing your typical tavern-wench attire: red, off-the shoulder blouses with yellow bodices, with the symbol of the Laughing Dwarf crosstitched onto the front (a literal laughing dwarf hoisting a mug). It's tied together with a puffy, pleated gray and yellow skirt that goes just below the knee covered by a short apron made of dense, rugged material. Their hair, if long enough is tied back into an ornate braid (courtesy of Glynnis) to keep it out of their face. Those who chose to wear suits are wearing loose-fitting red wrap pants tucked into high-laced boots. A long, yellow boned vest tapers their frame into an elegant V-shape over a blousy red top. The vests also have the cross-stitched logo of the Laughing Dwarf and their hair is also braided to perfection. The workers seem to come from a variety of backgrounds, but are mostly elves, half-elves, and dwarves, with one goblinoid, and and one gnome struggling to make her oversized outfit work. She accomodates her low-profile physique with some platform boots, which are slowing her down, but at least makes her almost as tall as the dwarves.
Hastos is standing there amidst the crowd, in a loose-fitting deer-skin tunic with cotton sleeves and leather breeches tucking into high-laced boots. His hair is braided and decorated with ornate loc-rings and his beard and moustache is glistening and slicked to a fine point. Sharn and Merkas haven't made it downstairs yet, and already the staff is nervously fawning over the two of you from a distance. A couple of the servers keep glancing at you and whispering to each other with barely contained desire in their eyes. You've clearly got some fans.
A crowd is beginning to form at the door, singing songs of celebration, and Glynnis is getting antsy. She doesn't want to make the crowd wait too long, and she keeps fussing over her hair nervously while checking the stairs to see if Sharn and Merkas are making their way down. Then her eyes turn to the back door as the band sneaks in with their equipment. Kaylan is the first to walk in, all apologies for being late and carrying her recently polished shawm, a favored local instrument similar to an oboe. Behind her is local celebrity, Namuya, a yuan-ti and non-practicing priest of Majere who abandoned the cloth to pursue a career in music. But gigs have been hard to find in town, so they fills their days as a quarryman, in charge of producing the clay-based stone that fortifies the structures in Santekh. Their music stylings are aggressive, loud, and revolutionary, but if you get to know them, they're very gentle and sweet, and tend to make friends quickly. They tend to do impressions of council members for laughs, and roast them lovingly, usually to the amusement of the council as well. Verhanna doesn't like Namuya's impression of her though. Last, is Vanthanor, who plays the kamencheh, a local stringed instrument similar to a fiddle. He's a half-elf and the only representative on the council who is also a member of the Hachakee. He speaks for the tribe in matters of what the Hachakee will and won't do for the people of Santekh. Sharn knows him as a beleagured man who has recently become more withdrawn and fidgety as his livestock have been dying of starvation. He's easily the most brooding of the group, and rarely speaks to anyone who isn't Hachakee anymore. He shuffles in behind the group and scans the stage for a place to set up.
Once the last pieces are in place, Glynnis paces the floor looking obviously stressed as people begin knocking on the door to be let in. She claps her hands together, a loud slap that quiets the workers. "Places erryone! Soon as the rest o' our guests o' honor'er ready, you two pop open them doors! The rest o' you get ready to greet tha crowds an run drinks!" Two dwarves scramble into position at the door, ready to swing them wide. The rest form a loose semi-circle on the dance floor ready to seat people and take orders while Vix-Sin start to warm up their instruments.
Sera couldn’t help but smile at Glynnis’s dramatic outburst over her transformation. She followed her down, trying to walk with grace despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.
The party was grand—far more than she was used to. Lights, color, music, scents from the kitchens—it was overwhelming. But it was Hastos who truly stole her breath.
He stood near the hearth, for once without his armor. Instead, he wore a fitted deer leather tunic that clung to his lean frame, and his hair—now braided in a roguish, ‘bad boy’ style—made her stomach flip.
She nearly forgot how to walk.
With a boldness born from sheer panic, she sauntered up to him and leaned casually on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “If you don’t leave here tonight with a handful of smitten girls, I’ll be shocked. You handsome ranger-elf types always charm the ladies. I think half the serving maids might faint if you so much as smile.”
She gave his braid a slow once-over, then murmured, “Hot…”
And then she fled. Well—walked to her seat as gracefully as possible, biting back a grin. The lines were almost word-for-word stolen from a sleazy bard she’d met in Palanthas, but Hastos didn’t need to know that.
She was flustered. Lost, really. A part of her still refused to believe anyone could be paying attention to her at all.
The band and artists arrived, setting up with loud enthusiasm. Glynnis, meanwhile, looked like she might suffer a stroke if every detail wasn’t perfect. When Handar peeked in from the kitchen, she gave him a strained smile that clearly meant “Get me out of here”. He only grinned and disappeared again.
Sera looked around, eyes scanning for something—anything—to calm her nerves. An ale would do.
A dwarf with dusty brown hair tied into a long braid glides up to you with a note pad in hand, and curtsies. "Greetings, Sera Uth Darnon! Ye look like ye could use a drink. It's on the house fer ye and Dawnbound t'night. Would ye like ta hear our specials?" Her voice is pitched to sound soft and her chin stubble is faintly visible in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles in the room (courtesy of Dana's Dancing Lights), and she's positively glowing in her tavern-wenches uniform. The blush on her face reveals barely contained desire to gush about you and what an inspiration you are to her.
Merkas rushes to his room and strips down, sliding in to the tub without even checking the temperature, he scrubs off in a hurry, barely dipping his head under and washing his hair. “Gotta make sure everyone knows what Bucky is offering, and the stuff that I learned already, also maybe I can meet a smith tonight that could use Barkly, Kasi could for sure but we need to get her a proper stone forge, don’t want to burn down he house..” He continues mumbling to himself as he pulls out his common clothes, inspects them and dresses, barely dried off from the bath. The tunic and trousers he keeps for more special occasions are not overly dressy but nice enough. Canvas like materials make up the trousers, well fitted but loose enough to run in if needed. The Shirt is charcoal grey, button up front and sleeves meant for cufflinks simply rolled back to the elbows. He pulls a basic kerchief to fold and set in the right breast pocket, and a bolo style tie. Finally he wraps his dagger belt around his waste, making sure the daggers are clasped in tightly so the can’t fall out. After a quick check everything is tucked in where it should be, Merkas shakes his head to clear some of the water from it and heads back to the hall. Just before announcing himself he takes a quick look around to see if Glynnis is watching and proceeds to sneak back into a corner so he can watch the band and see the people entering. (14- perception to spot Glynnis, 14-Stealth to hide in a corner)
Glynnis isn't hard to see, but she's pretty tricky to avoid. She keeps catching glimpses of you out of the corner of her eye, but you manage to duck behing a chair or support colum just in time to avoid direct line-of-sight. When she finally clocks you, she notices you clearly trying to make yourself small in a corner, and decides not to bother you.
"At least 'e's 'ere. Where the hell is Sharn, that dusty ol' vagabond?!" She mutters under her breath. The crowd is getting louder and people are starting to knock.
The new serving maid—a pretty dwarf with a glance of quiet worship in her eyes—approached Sera and offered her a mug of ale. “On the house,” she said, clearly trying to impress.
Sera, who wasn’t used to drinks, gave a small, thankful smile. “Oh, thank you... I’d like something a bit bitter to start with?”
She accepted the mug, then studied the girl a little more closely. “What’s your name? I’m not sure I’ve seen you around before.”
Sharn had already been downstairs for a while now, surprising him not all that he went undiscovered. His mustache was neat and his hair combed. Not too mention he didn't reek like he had for the last few months. He sat with a smile on his face a cup of water that he nursed like if it were alcohol in his hand. Those that were guided by the stars deserved to enjoy themselves, before they had to be the light that banished the umbral of night.
For the moment, Sharn sat brushing his mustache with a dumb smile on his face. Snickering every time someone wondered about his presence.
Hastos has watched Sera glide over to him, her eyes locked on him. He couldn’t look away - stunned by the beauty and grace that radiated from her. He was nervous all over again. In armor, there was a sense of… normalcy… what the the word? But like this it was like he was seeing her for the first time again.
Moments passed and in the blink of an eye she was walking away again. Her words only now sinking. He gave an absentminded chuckle at the thought of a “handful of girls” then tried to look casual again awaiting the festivities to begin.
The new serving maid—a pretty dwarf with a glance of quiet worship in her eyes—approached Sera and offered her a mug of ale. “On the house,” she said, clearly trying to impress.
Sera, who wasn’t used to drinks, gave a small, thankful smile. “Oh, thank you... I’d like something a bit bitter to start with?”
She accepted the mug, then studied the girl a little more closely. “What’s your name? I’m not sure I’ve seen you around before.”
The waitress hands you gin pahit, a bitter and crisp liquor from further east. It has a lemon-yellow color with a honeyed hue at the base. Sipping it, you get a faint hint of sour as well. She blushes a deep ruddy red, "Please... call me Kristryd. I came 'ere with the first caravan, afore ye arrived. Most o' us thought ta be builders an' miners, but as food got scarse, most o' us sought other work. I used to be a fighter meself, but I don' much care fer that life. I ain't got a heart fer killin'. I'm glad ta' see Glynnis finally hirin'... I think I like workin' 'ere more. Plus, tha' outfits'er nice!" She does a little twirl and and the skirt flairs out. Her smile is bright and giddy.
The alcohol content is very light. No need to roll a save on the first drink.
Sharn had already been downstairs for a while now, surprising him not all that he went undiscovered. His mustache was neat and his hair combed. Not too mention he didn't reek like he had for the last few months. He sat with a smile on his face a cup of water that he nursed like if it were alcohol in his hand. Those that were guided by the stars deserved to enjoy themselves, before they had to be the light that banished the umbral of night.
For the moment, Sharn sat brushing his mustache with a dumb smile on his face. Snickering every time someone wondered about his presence.
You see a server whispering in Glynnis's ear across the room by the stairs after seeing her storm around looking for you. She looks over at you, and squints. Then leans in, still not trusting her eyes. Then, when recognition finally dawns, she throws her arms in the air with an exasperated sigh and signals for the doors to open wide. That's the cue for the band to start playing an introductory song. It's soft and simple, easy to talk over for conversation as everyone pours in like a flood of flesh and fancy dress. Brilliantly colored shalvars of fine silk draped the legs, capped with sparkling galesh footwear. Thin, to the point of nearly sheer tops decorated some, and others wore fine coats called a kandys, embroidered intricately with bold colors. Sparkling hair pieces caught the candlight and sparkled off the walls. The bustle of the server staff before seemed serene compared to the roaring murmer of the incoming crowds as servers scrambled to guide people to their seats and take their orders. A flame erupted in the kitchen as Handar began searing meats and vegetables. He maneuvered with a grace that seemed like a dance about the kitchen as he filled plates with aromatic meals that made the patrons' mouths water.
Glynnis takes her place at the bar, mixing local traditional favorites and loading up trays with a haste you've not seen in her before. She takes the sacks of coin brought to her, and empties them into a chest behind the bar at her knees and grins ear to ear as it begins to fill up fast. Even with the extra staff, they're still scrambling to serve everyone quickly, and Glynnis seems to be filled with a fire to keep up with the orders as sweat from the labor beads up around her temples.
After the crowd enters and settles in, most in chairs, but a decent amount fill the dance floor, the council glides in (except Vanthanor, who is currently fiddling away on stage). Rhyanna and Verhanna are arm and arm, glide in wearing complementary elvish gowns of flowing gossamer over light green gowns with silver embroidery. Buckeran is dressed like a fine gentleman in a teal waistcoat with coral trim, and a taupe vest accented by a coral ascot and a pink kercheif tucked into his pocket, taupe breeches tailored to fit snugly, and glittering teal shoes with heels. Piruz saunters in a little to the rear of the group in plain scolars robes, which is pretty much the best-dressed anyone's ever seen him. He tends to not care much for vanity and seems positively miserable to be away from the pristinely kept tomes in his library.
Surrounding them is Tekel and a half-dozen guards, all in formal wear, but carrying short swords strapped to their belts, except Tekel, who (by necessity) has his scythe strapped to his back. Tekel is the only one wearing armor, but just his breastplate, with his deity engraved on the chest glistening so much he nearly looks like a disco ball. He scans the room and escorts the council to the stage, using their arms to make way, as the band backs up towards the wall. On cue, the band stops, and the crowd goes silent. Tekel's guards take up posts on opposite ends of the stage, and Tekel steps down to take position like a bouncer at a concert next to his right-hand-man, Terth: a brutish looking man with brooding, bushy eyebrows, burnt and scabbed skin accustomed to the distant lands of Ansalon and scarred knuckles. His tall, broad-shouldered stature provides a stark contrast to his diminutive captain who nearly always seems to have a smile arcing his lips and a twinkle in his silvery eyes.
Rhyanna holds up her arms to quiet the crowd. "People of Santekh! Thank you for coming tonight and celebrating a truly important turning point in our mission to free the people from tyranny!" the crowd cheers and applauds. She waits for a moment before continuing. "We suffered so much under occupation, then ensalvement, then genocide and exile, only to find ourselves in this desolate land where even the Dragon Armies fear to tread. But we have survived... thanks in large part to the wisdom and protection of the Hachakee tribe who taught us how to find food and water in this brutal terrain. But, I will admit, even my hope wavered when vile kobolds attacked a merchant caravan, slaughtering the innocent patriots who were bringing it to us, and stole the much needed materials we were so desperately awaiting," Rhyanna paused as the crowd booed and screamed out calls for death to all kobolds. "Then... as if called to us, a ray of light... in the most ironic of darknesses," she says to the chuckle of the crowd, "came to Santekh, escorting many of you here safely through the monster infested trails near the Khalkist Mountains and taking on the dangerous quest of recovering those supplies, and avenging the innocent fallen! Dawnbound!" The crowd goes insane, roaring Dawnbound (or their respective favorite members) into the air while hoisting their cups in honor. "Yes... Dawnbound returned without a single causualty, returning all twelve crates and eliminating the Letni Inhelk threat once and for all!" Whipped into a frenzy, the crowd repeats "once-and-for-all""death to the dragon armies" and "good riddance to all kobolds" with cheeer and zeal.
Rhyanna lowers her arm to receive a glass of wine, and the rest of the council members follow suit. She holds her glass high. "Tonight we drink, feast, dance, and cheer for Dawnbound and the future of the rebellion!"
Servers come out of the crowds and escort each of you to the stage to stand in front of the council members. "To Dawnbound and to the rebellion! Salamati!" she shouts, saying the Hachakee word for cheers. "SALAMATI!" the crowd shouts back in unison. Everyone downs their cups at once and servers scramble to provide refills.
"ONE TWO THREE FOUR!" Vix-Sin changes tone suddenly, playing a loud and raucous song of solidarity and rebellion as Rhyanna (known for dancing with the band) unclasps the skirt part of her gown, revealing a clingy material that sparkles on her exposed legs. Verhanna collects the skirt from Rhyanna and walks with Dawnbound off the stage as the band goes wild!
Rhyanna spins and kicks high into the air, throwing her arms back dramatically, then lands in the splits, before sliding her legs back together and doing a backwards roll to a stand. Her arms writhe wildly as the aggressive music takes over, and it seems so strange seeing such unhinged choreography from her, but she executes each move with the grace and perfection of a harem dancer. The crowd sees their cue and fills the dance floor, shaking and jumping out all their pent up stress and frustration with such energy that the entire building hums with the vibration.
Hastos makes his way back to the hearth, choosing to stand instead of sit. He feels particularly vulnerable without the protection of the armor, and his axe. Standing gives him a bit of a height advantage for surveying the goings on in the dance hall. Although all these moving bodies and chaotic music is really putting him on edge. He leans over towards a passing server and asks for the darkest drink they have. The response is surprising as he barely has time to scan the room before she returns with a draft of something that looks like diluted oil. The smell is earthy and foamy, and he takes a drink of it while trying to look like he’s enjoying himself and surveying the room to see if anyone seems to be eyeing himself or the group with any malice. (Perception: 9)
Sharn remained seated. The good people of Santekh deserved to shake their worries off, while shaking their bodies. He, however, kept his eyes on Tekel and Terth. Not that he thought that they would do something foolish during the jovial occasion. Now that Sharn had time to cool off his emotions, he felt it right to exchange a few words with the young man, if his second was there then all the better. Yet despite himself, Sharn realized he was tapping his own foot to the beat of the music, and that his smile was effortlessly jovial and warm.
Sera downed her first drink in a single breath. The bitterness lingered on her tongue, grounding her for just a moment. She set the mug down, fingers trembling slightly, and wiped her palms discreetly against the folds of her gown.
Then someone called her name.
A roar of cheers followed—praise, applause, too much noise. She stiffened, her shoulders instinctively drawing up as she turned toward the stage. Her smile came slow, hesitant, practiced. She raised a hand in a half-wave, her other instinctively brushing against the hidden sword hilt strapped to her thigh. A tether to reality.
The crowd’s chant shifted, sharp and cold. "To the death of the kobolds!" someone shouted.
Sera flinched. Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. So many still clung to old hatreds, blind to anything but blood. She forced herself to stay standing, to nod, to appear unshaken.
As soon as she could, she stepped down. Her heels clicked softly on the wooden boards, her breath caught tight in her throat. She exhaled as her boots met the floor again, then rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the knot in her spine.
This was a celebration. These people deserved joy. And she… she would not let her awkwardness poison their relief.
Her eyes scanned the room. The Dawnbound were nowhere close. Had they scattered? Hiding behind mugs or curtains, like nervous recruits avoiding drill?
Her gaze found Hastos by the hearth, standing tall, arms folded, eyes sharp. Watching. Ever the ranger. He looked more like a city guard than a party guest.
Sera smiled to herself. She remembered, as a girl, looking up at knights—how they moved, how they carried a room. How their presence alone could lift the weary. Maybe that was her task now too.
She touched the pendant under her gown and whispered a silent prayer to Paladine: Let me not fall flat on my nose. Let me move like Ryhanna did. Let me carry light when others are lost. ( cast guidance)
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped forward—back straight, steps light, her gown brushing against her ankles like water.
And then she smiled, real this time, as the music swelled—and she dared to dance. ( 16 on her performance dance)
Sera found the rhythm with surprising ease, letting her hips sway and her hands move with graceful and seductive confidence. She spun once, letting the fabric lift enough to catch the eye—and then reached for a startled farmer with a warm grin, pulling him into a spin that had him laughing and red-faced.
Soon she moved through the crowd like a breeze—catching a merchant’s hand, teasing a shy young lad into a clumsy two-step, even giving a wink to a group of giggling women and drawing one of them onto the floor for a mock-serious twirl. It wasn’t just dancing—it was joy, warmth, flirtation, and light.
The music swelled and the room followed her, energy building like a fire catching on dry wood.
Sera was no longer hiding behind armor or the ghost of duty. She was here, radiant and unafraid. And for a moment, she could almost believe the war was far away.
Having successfully avoided reprimand for his appearance, Merkas stops slinking about and starts enjoying the scene. He notices the hitch and stiffened backs in his comrades at the mentioned destruction of the Letni Inhelk and subsequent genocidal chants, ha pastes on a smile that is clearly not genuine but may just enough to avoid many questions (performance 11)
He starts following the procession of the stage but gets spun on his foot as the band starts the new song, surprise and unbridled joy cross his face as he starts to gyrate along with the beat, a strange cross of headbanging and breakdancing. The movements bring him to the stairs and down them in a controlled fall. Back in his feet he catches a glimpse of Sera working the crowd, which he starts to follow suit. He makes a pass by her and joins in an impromptu line dance for a few beats before moving on to enjoy the night. While moving around he listens closely to the sentiment and general conversation in town, and there may be a few items collected along the way. (Nat-20 Perception, 18-Sleight of Hand)
Hastos makes his way back to the hearth, choosing to stand instead of sit. He feels particularly vulnerable without the protection of the armor, and his axe. Standing gives him a bit of a height advantage for surveying the goings on in the dance hall. Although all these moving bodies and chaotic music is really putting him on edge. He leans over towards a passing server and asks for the darkest drink they have. The response is surprising as he barely has time to scan the room before she returns with a draft of something that looks like diluted oil. The smell is earthy and foamy, and he takes a drink of it while trying to look like he’s enjoying himself and surveying the room to see if anyone seems to be eyeing himself or the group with any malice. (Perception: 9)
Ororana, dripping with sweat from dancing, sauters up to you. She's wearing, as expected, practically nothing, and her hair is somehow even bigger than last you saw her, from swinging her head violently to the music. "At ease, soldier," she says with a flirty smirk. "You're gonna pop a blood vessel if you stay that tense." She looks at your drink and scoffs. "Thudrud?! I thought only goblins drank that sludge!" She laughs boisterously, as one who lives life only in the moment.
"Mkay..." she says tossing her head to the side and waving over a server. "One Thudrud for me, and another round for Mr. Broody Brows over here." The server bows and slips back with two more drinks. She drops a handful of coppers on the tray. "Keep the change for yourself, sugar," she says to the server with a wink.
She takes a sniff of the rough brew and winces. "Woof," she says with a laugh as she covers her nose. "Down the hatch!" She pours back the drink with her throat open wide, then grimaces when it's gone. "Ok, babe... what's eating you? You act like you almost want a fight to break out." She scans the room trying to get a bead on what has your attention.
Sharn remained seated. The good people of Santekh deserved to shake their worries off, while shaking their bodies. He, however, kept his eyes on Tekel and Terth. Not that he thought that they would do something foolish during the jovial occasion. Now that Sharn had time to cool off his emotions, he felt it right to exchange a few words with the young man, if his second was there then all the better. Yet despite himself, Sharn realized he was tapping his own foot to the beat of the music, and that his smile was effortlessly jovial and warm.
Tekel is brighteyed and positively full of himself. Certainly, not being the guest of honor was a blow to his ego, but being hired as the personal guard to the council was close enough to get him and his guild on stage. He stands alert though, careful not to cross his arms so everyone can see how shiny his breastplate is over his white dress-attire. But he keeps a close eye on Terth, who couldn't suppress a scowl if the gods rained candy on the town for three days. He's a big, brutish man, who shoves anyone who gets to close to him, or the council. Tekel keeps reigning him in, but it seems like only a matter of time before he punches someone.
Sera downed her first drink in a single breath. The bitterness lingered on her tongue, grounding her for just a moment. She set the mug down, fingers trembling slightly, and wiped her palms discreetly against the folds of her gown.
Then someone called her name.
A roar of cheers followed—praise, applause, too much noise. She stiffened, her shoulders instinctively drawing up as she turned toward the stage. Her smile came slow, hesitant, practiced. She raised a hand in a half-wave, her other instinctively brushing against the hidden sword hilt strapped to her thigh. A tether to reality.
The crowd’s chant shifted, sharp and cold. "To the death of the kobolds!" someone shouted.
Sera flinched. Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. So many still clung to old hatreds, blind to anything but blood. She forced herself to stay standing, to nod, to appear unshaken.
As soon as she could, she stepped down. Her heels clicked softly on the wooden boards, her breath caught tight in her throat. She exhaled as her boots met the floor again, then rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the knot in her spine.
This was a celebration. These people deserved joy. And she… she would not let her awkwardness poison their relief.
Her eyes scanned the room. The Dawnbound were nowhere close. Had they scattered? Hiding behind mugs or curtains, like nervous recruits avoiding drill?
Her gaze found Hastos by the hearth, standing tall, arms folded, eyes sharp. Watching. Ever the ranger. He looked more like a city guard than a party guest.
Sera smiled to herself. She remembered, as a girl, looking up at knights—how they moved, how they carried a room. How their presence alone could lift the weary. Maybe that was her task now too.
She touched the pendant under her gown and whispered a silent prayer to Paladine: Let me not fall flat on my nose. Let me move like Ryhanna did. Let me carry light when others are lost. ( cast guidance)
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped forward—back straight, steps light, her gown brushing against her ankles like water.
And then she smiled, real this time, as the music swelled—and she dared to dance. ( 16 on her performance dance)
Sera found the rhythm with surprising ease, letting her hips sway and her hands move with graceful and seductive confidence. She spun once, letting the fabric lift enough to catch the eye—and then reached for a startled farmer with a warm grin, pulling him into a spin that had him laughing and red-faced.
Soon she moved through the crowd like a breeze—catching a merchant’s hand, teasing a shy young lad into a clumsy two-step, even giving a wink to a group of giggling women and drawing one of them onto the floor for a mock-serious twirl. It wasn’t just dancing—it was joy, warmth, flirtation, and light.
The music swelled and the room followed her, energy building like a fire catching on dry wood.
Sera was no longer hiding behind armor or the ghost of duty. She was here, radiant and unafraid. And for a moment, she could almost believe the war was far away.
Sera's light-footed movements swoon the crowd, and soon she finds she has no shortage of dance partners. A crowd forms around you and claps to the beat, calling your name. Even Rhyanna is pulled into your orbit, called down by your energy and joins you in a collaborative dance. After the song ends, she shows you the basic moves, and cues the band to play a traditional Khurish dance song. The two of you move in perfect synchrony, delighting the crowd with your graceful movements. Rhyanna smiles at you joyfully as the two of you gluide across the dance floor.
Having successfully avoided reprimand for his appearance, Merkas stops slinking about and starts enjoying the scene. He notices the hitch and stiffened backs in his comrades at the mentioned destruction of the Letni Inhelk and subsequent genocidal chants, ha pastes on a smile that is clearly not genuine but may just enough to avoid many questions (performance 11)
He starts following the procession of the stage but gets spun on his foot as the band starts the new song, surprise and unbridled joy cross his face as he starts to gyrate along with the beat, a strange cross of headbanging and breakdancing. The movements bring him to the stairs and down them in a controlled fall. Back in his feet he catches a glimpse of Sera working the crowd, which he starts to follow suit. He makes a pass by her and joins in an impromptu line dance for a few beats before moving on to enjoy the night. While moving around he listens closely to the sentiment and general conversation in town, and there may be a few items collected along the way. (Nat-20 Perception, 18-Sleight of Hand)
Merkas also has no shortage of dance partners, and soon, you've had quite a workout! Your clothes are sticky with sweat, and the candlelight reflects of your dewdrops like glitter on blue ice, only adding to the mystique of your appearance. Elves spin your around like a top... kender bounce with you in chaos... and dwaves line-dance with you with heavy, stomping boots.
As a crowd forms around Rhyanna and Sera, their focus shifts, allowing you freedom to move about the room...
Sharn rolled out of bed and thudded on the floor, blankets and all. He peeled himself off the cocoon of cloth and stood hazily from the floor. "I'm up. Thank you Glynnis" He said.
He looked at the clothes and frowned, but the water is what squeezed a deep sigh out of him. There was no escape from a dreaded bath. It wasn't all bad. Sharn tried to decipher the shapes that formed on the muck that he scrubbed out of himself. He swore one of the chunks of dirt looked like a rabbit, whatever that might mean. Clean and combed, he then looked at the clothes. They were of a more traditional dwarven style. Sharn frowned again, he had grown so accustomed to nomadic garments that this felt foreign to him. The shirt was comfortable, however, and the pants fit remarkably well. He wondered how they had guessed his measurements, before starting his way downstairs.
Hastos receives a plain brown tunic made of deer-hide for the torso and cotton for the sleeves. It's baggy enough to wear armor under the shirt, but crops a little short at the belly button. The leather breeches are black, and too losse about the waist, but a braided belt with a large copper buckle is included to cinche it. Once on, they look kind of like capris pants, riding up to the calves. Dwarven clothes aren't the perfect fit for elven frames, but the materials were nice, in good condition, and soft to the skin. Glynnis had the wherewithall to find you some tall boots that go nearly up the the knee to cover the gap. And clasps are provided to attach your trademark cape. She also managed to include some loc-rings, engraved with dwarven symbols in case you intend to braid your hair, as well as a locket with a common gem looped into it.
As you're dressing, you hear Sharn grumbling about being woken up.
Once Glynnis hears Sharn's confirmation, she grunts and moves on to Sera's room.
Sera hears a rap on her door, and Glynnis clears her throat. "Sera? We're gonna unlock tha' door once yer dressed an' ready. Staff is waitin' downstairs for ye ta announce yer ready to begin."
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Hastos is delighted at the clothes and thanks Glynnis sincerely. He also takes the braid locks and decides he’s going to really make the most of the evening and braid his hair! He decides to create two braids on either side of his head, just behind his ears.
(Dex: 5) Hastos is so enthusiastic about braiding his hair he never stops to think that he has no idea how to braid hair. As he finishes and puts the last loc in, he beams with pride. The braids are… there, but they lack any sense of design, consistency, or forethought. They did follow the flow of his hair, so in a sense one could say he was successful.
He puts on the necklace, and the boots and heads back down to the hall.
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
Squinting at his greeter as if he were much older and had bad eyesight "Eh, Wuzzat, Sky you say? My you've grown. You were such a small girl when we met last, so mature and respectable now. How's your mother?" Grinning widely as he stops the charade "Yeah, Sure am glad we didn't loose anyone on that trip, wasn't any fun trudging through that wilderness. Say, you think I can get away with not washing up? There's so much to do I wouldn't wanna miss anything." Catching sight of Glynnis as she comes back from his companions rooms "On second thought, I better just go and do it, Glynnis likely has even Sharn washing up so there ain't no way I will get away with not. What you think I should wear, maybe just my regular attire so's I can be recognized, or should I dress all up nice and neat?" Putting on an air of sophistication as he finished his question he starts heading towards the rooms, moving slow enough to hear Sky's response before quickening his step to get washed up "Oh and be sure Kasi and Barkly get their share of the food tonight too please!"
Loyalty Begets Honour
Glynnis gives you an appraising look as you descend the stairs and nods a confirmation of satisfaction. "Ye look sharp. Let me eh.... lemme fix that fer ye." True to her nature, Glynnis waves for you to sit at a stool, and (if you are ok with it) commences to re-braiding your hair. "Normally, these loc-rings'd go in yer beard, but I don't think that peach fuzz'll have it. I'll slick it up with some scented oil, an' have ye looking like a nobleman in no time." Once she's done, your beard looks thicker and smoother, and tapers to a fine point and the chin. Your moustache is swept into a part to frame your lips and curled slightly at each edge giving you a noble appearance. She frames the braids around the crown of your skull and down the center, giving you the appearance of a crown, feeding the loc-rings in at strategic points to accentuate the looks. Once the work is done, she shows you a mirror. "There ye go..."
Sky takes a moment to get your impression as a joke, and then bends backwards and laughs genuinely when they finally understand the ruse. Your barrage of questions tickles them equally, and you sense a kindred spirit in their ability to keep up with your freeform thinking. "Yeah... I'd definitely scrub up. Glynnis is on a warpath for making sure everyone looks their best tonight." They gesture over to Hastos getting fussed over by Glynnis. "If you don't have anything to wear, I might have something you could borrow." They draw their hand across the top of their head to the top of yours. "I'm a little taller than you, but I think I can make it work. Would you prefer a suit, or a dress?" They say with a cheery smile.
The other servers are setting up targets along a patch of wall that has been cleared of tables, and affixing eggs to them.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Sera dresses slowly—it feels strange to wear something fine. She never had the chance before. Most of her life has been rags and armor.
She slips on the boots, their dyed blue leather matching the gown. The heels are slightly higher than she’s used to, but manageable. For a long moment, she debates whether to go unarmed. Then she remembers: this town is crawling with cultists, rivals, and worse.
With quiet resolve, she straps her sword hilt to her thigh, hidden beneath the gown’s split. It's awkward, but necessary.
She gathers the last of her spell components—just the essentials. A feather, and a small prayer scroll. The scroll she tucks into her garter belt, the feather into a pocket sewn into the lining.
Sera takes a final look in the mirror. Then hang her suymbol of Paladine over her neck. The Silvery amulet feature the paladin dragon make her feel safe.
A part of her almost wishes she were off to fight a monster. That would be easier than this.
She exhales. Then steps out into the hall.
“I’m ready,” she tells Glynnis, voice steady. “Let’s face this.”
Glynnis gasps as she see's Sera, looking positively radiant in blue. "Oh lass!" she says, biting her knuckle to calm herself. "Yer tha picture o' perfection! I ne'er seen..." she waves her hands and squeals in an manner unusually girly for her general behavior. "Ach, I can't wait!" Her guidiness is only slightly diminished as she continues on. "Now if only Sharn an' Merkas'll announce their readiness, we can open the doors! I'll go do final checks." She scurries off to check on the kitchen where Handar and his assistant are scrubbing up after finishing all the prep.
The staff, about 15 of them, are milling about. Those who prefer dresses are wearing your typical tavern-wench attire: red, off-the shoulder blouses with yellow bodices, with the symbol of the Laughing Dwarf crosstitched onto the front (a literal laughing dwarf hoisting a mug). It's tied together with a puffy, pleated gray and yellow skirt that goes just below the knee covered by a short apron made of dense, rugged material. Their hair, if long enough is tied back into an ornate braid (courtesy of Glynnis) to keep it out of their face. Those who chose to wear suits are wearing loose-fitting red wrap pants tucked into high-laced boots. A long, yellow boned vest tapers their frame into an elegant V-shape over a blousy red top. The vests also have the cross-stitched logo of the Laughing Dwarf and their hair is also braided to perfection. The workers seem to come from a variety of backgrounds, but are mostly elves, half-elves, and dwarves, with one goblinoid, and and one gnome struggling to make her oversized outfit work. She accomodates her low-profile physique with some platform boots, which are slowing her down, but at least makes her almost as tall as the dwarves.
Hastos is standing there amidst the crowd, in a loose-fitting deer-skin tunic with cotton sleeves and leather breeches tucking into high-laced boots. His hair is braided and decorated with ornate loc-rings and his beard and moustache is glistening and slicked to a fine point. Sharn and Merkas haven't made it downstairs yet, and already the staff is nervously fawning over the two of you from a distance. A couple of the servers keep glancing at you and whispering to each other with barely contained desire in their eyes. You've clearly got some fans.
A crowd is beginning to form at the door, singing songs of celebration, and Glynnis is getting antsy. She doesn't want to make the crowd wait too long, and she keeps fussing over her hair nervously while checking the stairs to see if Sharn and Merkas are making their way down. Then her eyes turn to the back door as the band sneaks in with their equipment. Kaylan is the first to walk in, all apologies for being late and carrying her recently polished shawm, a favored local instrument similar to an oboe. Behind her is local celebrity, Namuya, a yuan-ti and non-practicing priest of Majere who abandoned the cloth to pursue a career in music. But gigs have been hard to find in town, so they fills their days as a quarryman, in charge of producing the clay-based stone that fortifies the structures in Santekh. Their music stylings are aggressive, loud, and revolutionary, but if you get to know them, they're very gentle and sweet, and tend to make friends quickly. They tend to do impressions of council members for laughs, and roast them lovingly, usually to the amusement of the council as well. Verhanna doesn't like Namuya's impression of her though. Last, is Vanthanor, who plays the kamencheh, a local stringed instrument similar to a fiddle. He's a half-elf and the only representative on the council who is also a member of the Hachakee. He speaks for the tribe in matters of what the Hachakee will and won't do for the people of Santekh. Sharn knows him as a beleagured man who has recently become more withdrawn and fidgety as his livestock have been dying of starvation. He's easily the most brooding of the group, and rarely speaks to anyone who isn't Hachakee anymore. He shuffles in behind the group and scans the stage for a place to set up.
Once the last pieces are in place, Glynnis paces the floor looking obviously stressed as people begin knocking on the door to be let in. She claps her hands together, a loud slap that quiets the workers. "Places erryone! Soon as the rest o' our guests o' honor'er ready, you two pop open them doors! The rest o' you get ready to greet tha crowds an run drinks!" Two dwarves scramble into position at the door, ready to swing them wide. The rest form a loose semi-circle on the dance floor ready to seat people and take orders while Vix-Sin start to warm up their instruments.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Sera couldn’t help but smile at Glynnis’s dramatic outburst over her transformation. She followed her down, trying to walk with grace despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.
The party was grand—far more than she was used to. Lights, color, music, scents from the kitchens—it was overwhelming. But it was Hastos who truly stole her breath.
He stood near the hearth, for once without his armor. Instead, he wore a fitted deer leather tunic that clung to his lean frame, and his hair—now braided in a roguish, ‘bad boy’ style—made her stomach flip.
She nearly forgot how to walk.
With a boldness born from sheer panic, she sauntered up to him and leaned casually on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “If you don’t leave here tonight with a handful of smitten girls, I’ll be shocked. You handsome ranger-elf types always charm the ladies. I think half the serving maids might faint if you so much as smile.”
She gave his braid a slow once-over, then murmured, “Hot…”
And then she fled. Well—walked to her seat as gracefully as possible, biting back a grin. The lines were almost word-for-word stolen from a sleazy bard she’d met in Palanthas, but Hastos didn’t need to know that.
She was flustered. Lost, really. A part of her still refused to believe anyone could be paying attention to her at all.
The band and artists arrived, setting up with loud enthusiasm. Glynnis, meanwhile, looked like she might suffer a stroke if every detail wasn’t perfect. When Handar peeked in from the kitchen, she gave him a strained smile that clearly meant “Get me out of here”. He only grinned and disappeared again.
Sera looked around, eyes scanning for something—anything—to calm her nerves. An ale would do.
A dwarf with dusty brown hair tied into a long braid glides up to you with a note pad in hand, and curtsies. "Greetings, Sera Uth Darnon! Ye look like ye could use a drink. It's on the house fer ye and Dawnbound t'night. Would ye like ta hear our specials?" Her voice is pitched to sound soft and her chin stubble is faintly visible in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles in the room (courtesy of Dana's Dancing Lights), and she's positively glowing in her tavern-wenches uniform. The blush on her face reveals barely contained desire to gush about you and what an inspiration you are to her.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Merkas rushes to his room and strips down, sliding in to the tub without even checking the temperature, he scrubs off in a hurry, barely dipping his head under and washing his hair. “Gotta make sure everyone knows what Bucky is offering, and the stuff that I learned already, also maybe I can meet a smith tonight that could use Barkly, Kasi could for sure but we need to get her a proper stone forge, don’t want to burn down he house..” He continues mumbling to himself as he pulls out his common clothes, inspects them and dresses, barely dried off from the bath.
The tunic and trousers he keeps for more special occasions are not overly dressy but nice enough. Canvas like materials make up the trousers, well fitted but loose enough to run in if needed. The Shirt is charcoal grey, button up front and sleeves meant for cufflinks simply rolled back to the elbows. He pulls a basic kerchief to fold and set in the right breast pocket, and a bolo style tie. Finally he wraps his dagger belt around his waste, making sure the daggers are clasped in tightly so the can’t fall out.
After a quick check everything is tucked in where it should be, Merkas shakes his head to clear some of the water from it and heads back to the hall.
Just before announcing himself he takes a quick look around to see if Glynnis is watching and proceeds to sneak back into a corner so he can watch the band and see the people entering. (14- perception to spot Glynnis, 14-Stealth to hide in a corner)
Loyalty Begets Honour
Glynnis isn't hard to see, but she's pretty tricky to avoid. She keeps catching glimpses of you out of the corner of her eye, but you manage to duck behing a chair or support colum just in time to avoid direct line-of-sight. When she finally clocks you, she notices you clearly trying to make yourself small in a corner, and decides not to bother you.
"At least 'e's 'ere. Where the hell is Sharn, that dusty ol' vagabond?!" She mutters under her breath. The crowd is getting louder and people are starting to knock.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
The new serving maid—a pretty dwarf with a glance of quiet worship in her eyes—approached Sera and offered her a mug of ale. “On the house,” she said, clearly trying to impress.
Sera, who wasn’t used to drinks, gave a small, thankful smile. “Oh, thank you... I’d like something a bit bitter to start with?”
She accepted the mug, then studied the girl a little more closely. “What’s your name? I’m not sure I’ve seen you around before.”
Sharn had already been downstairs for a while now, surprising him not all that he went undiscovered. His mustache was neat and his hair combed. Not too mention he didn't reek like he had for the last few months. He sat with a smile on his face a cup of water that he nursed like if it were alcohol in his hand. Those that were guided by the stars deserved to enjoy themselves, before they had to be the light that banished the umbral of night.
For the moment, Sharn sat brushing his mustache with a dumb smile on his face. Snickering every time someone wondered about his presence.
Hastos has watched Sera glide over to him, her eyes locked on him. He couldn’t look away - stunned by the beauty and grace that radiated from her. He was nervous all over again. In armor, there was a sense of… normalcy… what the the word? But like this it was like he was seeing her for the first time again.
Moments passed and in the blink of an eye she was walking away again. Her words only now sinking. He gave an absentminded chuckle at the thought of a “handful of girls” then tried to look casual again awaiting the festivities to begin.
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
The waitress hands you gin pahit, a bitter and crisp liquor from further east. It has a lemon-yellow color with a honeyed hue at the base. Sipping it, you get a faint hint of sour as well. She blushes a deep ruddy red, "Please... call me Kristryd. I came 'ere with the first caravan, afore ye arrived. Most o' us thought ta be builders an' miners, but as food got scarse, most o' us sought other work. I used to be a fighter meself, but I don' much care fer that life. I ain't got a heart fer killin'. I'm glad ta' see Glynnis finally hirin'... I think I like workin' 'ere more. Plus, tha' outfits'er nice!" She does a little twirl and and the skirt flairs out. Her smile is bright and giddy.
The alcohol content is very light. No need to roll a save on the first drink.
You see a server whispering in Glynnis's ear across the room by the stairs after seeing her storm around looking for you. She looks over at you, and squints. Then leans in, still not trusting her eyes. Then, when recognition finally dawns, she throws her arms in the air with an exasperated sigh and signals for the doors to open wide. That's the cue for the band to start playing an introductory song. It's soft and simple, easy to talk over for conversation as everyone pours in like a flood of flesh and fancy dress. Brilliantly colored shalvars of fine silk draped the legs, capped with sparkling galesh footwear. Thin, to the point of nearly sheer tops decorated some, and others wore fine coats called a kandys, embroidered intricately with bold colors. Sparkling hair pieces caught the candlight and sparkled off the walls. The bustle of the server staff before seemed serene compared to the roaring murmer of the incoming crowds as servers scrambled to guide people to their seats and take their orders. A flame erupted in the kitchen as Handar began searing meats and vegetables. He maneuvered with a grace that seemed like a dance about the kitchen as he filled plates with aromatic meals that made the patrons' mouths water.
Glynnis takes her place at the bar, mixing local traditional favorites and loading up trays with a haste you've not seen in her before. She takes the sacks of coin brought to her, and empties them into a chest behind the bar at her knees and grins ear to ear as it begins to fill up fast. Even with the extra staff, they're still scrambling to serve everyone quickly, and Glynnis seems to be filled with a fire to keep up with the orders as sweat from the labor beads up around her temples.
After the crowd enters and settles in, most in chairs, but a decent amount fill the dance floor, the council glides in (except Vanthanor, who is currently fiddling away on stage). Rhyanna and Verhanna are arm and arm, glide in wearing complementary elvish gowns of flowing gossamer over light green gowns with silver embroidery. Buckeran is dressed like a fine gentleman in a teal waistcoat with coral trim, and a taupe vest accented by a coral ascot and a pink kercheif tucked into his pocket, taupe breeches tailored to fit snugly, and glittering teal shoes with heels. Piruz saunters in a little to the rear of the group in plain scolars robes, which is pretty much the best-dressed anyone's ever seen him. He tends to not care much for vanity and seems positively miserable to be away from the pristinely kept tomes in his library.
Surrounding them is Tekel and a half-dozen guards, all in formal wear, but carrying short swords strapped to their belts, except Tekel, who (by necessity) has his scythe strapped to his back. Tekel is the only one wearing armor, but just his breastplate, with his deity engraved on the chest glistening so much he nearly looks like a disco ball. He scans the room and escorts the council to the stage, using their arms to make way, as the band backs up towards the wall. On cue, the band stops, and the crowd goes silent. Tekel's guards take up posts on opposite ends of the stage, and Tekel steps down to take position like a bouncer at a concert next to his right-hand-man, Terth: a brutish looking man with brooding, bushy eyebrows, burnt and scabbed skin accustomed to the distant lands of Ansalon and scarred knuckles. His tall, broad-shouldered stature provides a stark contrast to his diminutive captain who nearly always seems to have a smile arcing his lips and a twinkle in his silvery eyes.
Rhyanna holds up her arms to quiet the crowd. "People of Santekh! Thank you for coming tonight and celebrating a truly important turning point in our mission to free the people from tyranny!" the crowd cheers and applauds. She waits for a moment before continuing. "We suffered so much under occupation, then ensalvement, then genocide and exile, only to find ourselves in this desolate land where even the Dragon Armies fear to tread. But we have survived... thanks in large part to the wisdom and protection of the Hachakee tribe who taught us how to find food and water in this brutal terrain. But, I will admit, even my hope wavered when vile kobolds attacked a merchant caravan, slaughtering the innocent patriots who were bringing it to us, and stole the much needed materials we were so desperately awaiting," Rhyanna paused as the crowd booed and screamed out calls for death to all kobolds. "Then... as if called to us, a ray of light... in the most ironic of darknesses," she says to the chuckle of the crowd, "came to Santekh, escorting many of you here safely through the monster infested trails near the Khalkist Mountains and taking on the dangerous quest of recovering those supplies, and avenging the innocent fallen! Dawnbound!" The crowd goes insane, roaring Dawnbound (or their respective favorite members) into the air while hoisting their cups in honor. "Yes... Dawnbound returned without a single causualty, returning all twelve crates and eliminating the Letni Inhelk threat once and for all!" Whipped into a frenzy, the crowd repeats "once-and-for-all" "death to the dragon armies" and "good riddance to all kobolds" with cheeer and zeal.
Rhyanna lowers her arm to receive a glass of wine, and the rest of the council members follow suit. She holds her glass high. "Tonight we drink, feast, dance, and cheer for Dawnbound and the future of the rebellion!"
Servers come out of the crowds and escort each of you to the stage to stand in front of the council members. "To Dawnbound and to the rebellion! Salamati!" she shouts, saying the Hachakee word for cheers. "SALAMATI!" the crowd shouts back in unison. Everyone downs their cups at once and servers scramble to provide refills.
"ONE TWO THREE FOUR!" Vix-Sin changes tone suddenly, playing a loud and raucous song of solidarity and rebellion as Rhyanna (known for dancing with the band) unclasps the skirt part of her gown, revealing a clingy material that sparkles on her exposed legs. Verhanna collects the skirt from Rhyanna and walks with Dawnbound off the stage as the band goes wild!
Rhyanna spins and kicks high into the air, throwing her arms back dramatically, then lands in the splits, before sliding her legs back together and doing a backwards roll to a stand. Her arms writhe wildly as the aggressive music takes over, and it seems so strange seeing such unhinged choreography from her, but she executes each move with the grace and perfection of a harem dancer. The crowd sees their cue and fills the dance floor, shaking and jumping out all their pent up stress and frustration with such energy that the entire building hums with the vibration.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Hastos makes his way back to the hearth, choosing to stand instead of sit. He feels particularly vulnerable without the protection of the armor, and his axe. Standing gives him a bit of a height advantage for surveying the goings on in the dance hall. Although all these moving bodies and chaotic music is really putting him on edge. He leans over towards a passing server and asks for the darkest drink they have. The response is surprising as he barely has time to scan the room before she returns with a draft of something that looks like diluted oil. The smell is earthy and foamy, and he takes a drink of it while trying to look like he’s enjoying himself and surveying the room to see if anyone seems to be eyeing himself or the group with any malice. (Perception: 9)
Character: Hastos, Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread
Sharn remained seated. The good people of Santekh deserved to shake their worries off, while shaking their bodies. He, however, kept his eyes on Tekel and Terth. Not that he thought that they would do something foolish during the jovial occasion. Now that Sharn had time to cool off his emotions, he felt it right to exchange a few words with the young man, if his second was there then all the better. Yet despite himself, Sharn realized he was tapping his own foot to the beat of the music, and that his smile was effortlessly jovial and warm.
Sera downed her first drink in a single breath. The bitterness lingered on her tongue, grounding her for just a moment. She set the mug down, fingers trembling slightly, and wiped her palms discreetly against the folds of her gown.
Then someone called her name.
A roar of cheers followed—praise, applause, too much noise. She stiffened, her shoulders instinctively drawing up as she turned toward the stage. Her smile came slow, hesitant, practiced. She raised a hand in a half-wave, her other instinctively brushing against the hidden sword hilt strapped to her thigh. A tether to reality.
The crowd’s chant shifted, sharp and cold. "To the death of the kobolds!" someone shouted.
Sera flinched. Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. So many still clung to old hatreds, blind to anything but blood. She forced herself to stay standing, to nod, to appear unshaken.
As soon as she could, she stepped down. Her heels clicked softly on the wooden boards, her breath caught tight in her throat. She exhaled as her boots met the floor again, then rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the knot in her spine.
This was a celebration. These people deserved joy. And she… she would not let her awkwardness poison their relief.
Her eyes scanned the room. The Dawnbound were nowhere close. Had they scattered? Hiding behind mugs or curtains, like nervous recruits avoiding drill?
Her gaze found Hastos by the hearth, standing tall, arms folded, eyes sharp. Watching. Ever the ranger. He looked more like a city guard than a party guest.
Sera smiled to herself. She remembered, as a girl, looking up at knights—how they moved, how they carried a room. How their presence alone could lift the weary. Maybe that was her task now too.
She touched the pendant under her gown and whispered a silent prayer to Paladine: Let me not fall flat on my nose. Let me move like Ryhanna did. Let me carry light when others are lost. ( cast guidance)
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped forward—back straight, steps light, her gown brushing against her ankles like water.
And then she smiled, real this time, as the music swelled—and she dared to dance. ( 16 on her performance dance)
Sera found the rhythm with surprising ease, letting her hips sway and her hands move with graceful and seductive confidence. She spun once, letting the fabric lift enough to catch the eye—and then reached for a startled farmer with a warm grin, pulling him into a spin that had him laughing and red-faced.
Soon she moved through the crowd like a breeze—catching a merchant’s hand, teasing a shy young lad into a clumsy two-step, even giving a wink to a group of giggling women and drawing one of them onto the floor for a mock-serious twirl. It wasn’t just dancing—it was joy, warmth, flirtation, and light.
The music swelled and the room followed her, energy building like a fire catching on dry wood.
Sera was no longer hiding behind armor or the ghost of duty. She was here, radiant and unafraid. And for a moment, she could almost believe the war was far away.
Having successfully avoided reprimand for his appearance, Merkas stops slinking about and starts enjoying the scene. He notices the hitch and stiffened backs in his comrades at the mentioned destruction of the Letni Inhelk and subsequent genocidal chants, ha pastes on a smile that is clearly not genuine but may just enough to avoid many questions (performance 11)
He starts following the procession of the stage but gets spun on his foot as the band starts the new song, surprise and unbridled joy cross his face as he starts to gyrate along with the beat, a strange cross of headbanging and breakdancing. The movements bring him to the stairs and down them in a controlled fall. Back in his feet he catches a glimpse of Sera working the crowd, which he starts to follow suit. He makes a pass by her and joins in an impromptu line dance for a few beats before moving on to enjoy the night.
While moving around he listens closely to the sentiment and general conversation in town, and there may be a few items collected along the way. (Nat-20 Perception, 18-Sleight of Hand)
Loyalty Begets Honour
Ororana, dripping with sweat from dancing, sauters up to you. She's wearing, as expected, practically nothing, and her hair is somehow even bigger than last you saw her, from swinging her head violently to the music. "At ease, soldier," she says with a flirty smirk. "You're gonna pop a blood vessel if you stay that tense." She looks at your drink and scoffs. "Thudrud?! I thought only goblins drank that sludge!" She laughs boisterously, as one who lives life only in the moment.
"Mkay..." she says tossing her head to the side and waving over a server. "One Thudrud for me, and another round for Mr. Broody Brows over here." The server bows and slips back with two more drinks. She drops a handful of coppers on the tray. "Keep the change for yourself, sugar," she says to the server with a wink.
She takes a sniff of the rough brew and winces. "Woof," she says with a laugh as she covers her nose. "Down the hatch!" She pours back the drink with her throat open wide, then grimaces when it's gone. "Ok, babe... what's eating you? You act like you almost want a fight to break out." She scans the room trying to get a bead on what has your attention.
Roll a CON Save, DC 13, please.
Tekel is brighteyed and positively full of himself. Certainly, not being the guest of honor was a blow to his ego, but being hired as the personal guard to the council was close enough to get him and his guild on stage. He stands alert though, careful not to cross his arms so everyone can see how shiny his breastplate is over his white dress-attire. But he keeps a close eye on Terth, who couldn't suppress a scowl if the gods rained candy on the town for three days. He's a big, brutish man, who shoves anyone who gets to close to him, or the council. Tekel keeps reigning him in, but it seems like only a matter of time before he punches someone.
Sera's light-footed movements swoon the crowd, and soon she finds she has no shortage of dance partners. A crowd forms around you and claps to the beat, calling your name. Even Rhyanna is pulled into your orbit, called down by your energy and joins you in a collaborative dance. After the song ends, she shows you the basic moves, and cues the band to play a traditional Khurish dance song. The two of you move in perfect synchrony, delighting the crowd with your graceful movements. Rhyanna smiles at you joyfully as the two of you gluide across the dance floor.
Merkas also has no shortage of dance partners, and soon, you've had quite a workout! Your clothes are sticky with sweat, and the candlelight reflects of your dewdrops like glitter on blue ice, only adding to the mystique of your appearance. Elves spin your around like a top... kender bounce with you in chaos... and dwaves line-dance with you with heavy, stomping boots.
As a crowd forms around Rhyanna and Sera, their focus shifts, allowing you freedom to move about the room...
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin