After the initial roll, we will continue in rounds, each round the crowd will lean towards Kel or Asariel, or be neutral. A victory on the opposed roll when the crowd leans your way is total victory. Each round, in addition to the performance check let me know if you do anything else. Onlookers can interfere, let me know if you do anything.

Quote from Charwoman_Gene >>

Kel and Asariel are battling for crowd adoration, 

 Asariel isn't doing this for the crowd. He is doing this to try and get Kel to apologise (preferably for the fiddle stealing earlier. But any form of sincere apology for the way he is acting will do). But if the only way to do that is to get the crowd on his side, the battle is on!

Initial performance check: 15 

Performance Roll=7

Kaelen takes his leave to go enjoy some night air, finding the liveliness in the inn overwhelming.

Mathias again shakes his head and gets up and exits the inn.  Nodding to Kaelen who also decided to seek calmer environs, the druid says. "A bit much, isn't it?"

“A bit much,” Kaelen echoes. “I’ve never been one for revelry. I find more peace among the trees—or in the silence of old ruins.”

He glances sideways at the druid, faint curiosity flickering behind his pale eyes. “Though I have to ask…a druid, answering a call to restore civilization? Seems at odds with your kind. What drew you to this place, to the Duke’s cause?”

The druid nods. "I have no qualms with revelry, perhaps just more issues with the revelry of 'civilized folk'." 

After Kaelen asks his question, Mathias nods again. "A perfectly reasonable question. My reasons for being here are more to keep an eye on this Duke's plans for advancement into the wild places.  We do not begrudge him his goals, but we want to make damned sure that our people are not eliminated or pushed off of the lands we've lived on and defended for centuries."

Regarding the Shadar-kai curiously, the druid asks, "If you find more peace among the trees, as you say, what brings you to this quest?"

Kaelen listens quietly, his gaze drifting to the dark treetops beyond the town’s edge as Mathias speaks. He gives a faint nod of understanding at the druid’s answer, his expression unreadable but thoughtful.

“I don’t fault you for that,” he replies. “The ambitions of men tend to spread faster than they understand the ground they build upon.”

At Mathias’s question, Kaelen’s eyes return to him, a faint glimmer of something—conviction, perhaps—behind them. “I walk where the old world sleeps. Forgotten places, lost names, histories swallowed by soil and time. I learn what I can, record what matters, and try not to awaken what should stay buried.” He pauses, then adds, “The Old Keep is one such place. I look forward to uncovering its secrets. And if I can prevent a few needless deaths in the process, all the better.”

[[As I stated in the OOC thread, 2024 Lucky is not a reroll.  Kel rolled a 7, which was my bar for ‘consequences’.  The battle is done. Asariel is the victor. But I’m not going to narrate what exactly happens.  But here are the possibilities.

1. Kel does some soul searching and decides to give Asariel an apology of his own accord. This will lead to no further consequences than Kel checking his ego right now.
2. Kel tries to respond and fails in engaging the crowd at all, Naiya posting some description of what happens in the attempt, but it will result it generally bad feelings from the townsfolk for the halfling unless things change.
3. Kel responds, but makes a judgement error in his response so bad, it enrages a person in the crowd and they throw a mug at Kel and the atmosphere turns very ugly, possibly causing a combat.

I leave it up to Naiya to choose what happens.]]

Kel exhales dramatically, running a hand through his hair as the last notes of Asariel’s triumphant tune settle over the tavern like the dust after a storm. He glances at Torban, who offers a sympathetic shrug, and then at Arista, who looks as though she enjoyed every second of the spectacle, winner be damned.

With a slow grin, Kel swings his legs over the bench, standing with exaggerated grandeur. “Aye, well,” he muses, dusting off his coat. “I suppose even the best among us must face defeat now and again.” His smirk lingers, but there’s no real bite to it. He claps his hands together and pivots toward Asariel, rolling his shoulders like a man preparing to take a heavy blow—though there’s a twinkle in his eye.

“Lad,” he begins, tone dropping into something uncharacteristically sincere, “I’ll give ye this—you’ve got a gift, no doubt about it. Not just for stringin’ words together but for makin’ ‘em land. An’ I—” He hesitates, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well. I may have been a bit... sharp-tongued before.

A beat. He looks down, shifting his weight, then exhales and meets Asariel’s gaze with open honesty.

“I was outta line. I know what it means to have an instrument that’s a part of ye, not just somethin’ ye play but somethin’ that speaks for ye. I should’ve seen that instead o’ takin’ a cheap shot.” His lips curl into something softer—still Kel, still full of roguish charm, but absent of mischief. “So, I’m sorry for fiddli'n with yer fiddle.”

The words linger for a moment before he straightens, throwing his arms wide with a sudden, disarming grin. “Not that I’ll be lettin’ ye win next time, mind ye, but—credit where it’s due.”

With that, he turns smoothly to Arista, stepping in just enough to lower his voice, eyes glinting with playful warmth.

"It’s such a good vibration," he murmurs with a wink.
"It’s such a sweet sensation."

And just like that, Kel is Kel again.

Arista had joined in so eagerly at first, clapping her hands and swaying to the rhythm, but halfway through the back-and-forth, she felt a knot in her stomach. She might not have the keenest mind for city life, but she recognized the way the crowd was leaning in and starting to whisper. Where she came from, back in the mountain ranges among the Goliaths, a fight like this—two people trading hot words and rousing spectators—usually ended with someone storming off in anger or fists getting thrown. The more Kel and Asariel went at it, the more Arista noticed the shifting expressions of the onlookers. A few were smiling, but others were itching for a reason to lash out. Her voice wavered, and her attempts to keep time with Kel’s verses dropped off as her attention lingered on tense shoulders and clenched fists around her.

She had seen how quickly a lively mood could twist into a brawl. In her clan, disagreements could be settled through a swift wrestling match or a test of endurance, but here, the energy felt wilder and more unpredictable, especially in a crowded inn full of strangers. When Kel’s jabs sharpened and Asariel’s voice rose, she truly believed they were one sour note away from broken chairs and spilled ale. So she took a step back, letting the heat of the performance wash over her while she kept a watchful eye on the room. Every once in a while, she tried to join in on Kel’s refrain, but her heart wasn’t in it—she was too busy hoping the bards wouldn’t accidentally spark an all-out brawl.

When Kel finally broke away with an apology to Asariel instead of challenging him with another biting verse, Arista felt a rush of relief. She actually let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. As he came closer, quietly finishing the line she’d missed, her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head. “Sorry,” she mumbled, stumbling over her words. “I just… got nervous. Looked like some folks here were about to start throwin’ punches, an’ I wasn’t sure what I ought to do. Don’t mean to spoil your fun, but I’m real glad you decided to call it off.” She huffed a small laugh, shoulders relaxing at last. “Things could’ve got nasty real quick, and I’d rather not see that happen over a song.”

Asariel looks surprised when Kel apologises. Sure it was what he was hoping for, but he certainly wasn't expecting it. Taken aback, he isn't sure what to say at first, and then he holds his hand out "Next time we play together. What do you say to that?"

Hearing the commotion from the inn start to die down, Kaelen heads back inside. He's surprised to see Asariel holding a hand out to Kel and watches curiously.

After taking a casual stroll through the streets of Threshold,  Mathias returns to the inn, grateful that the raucous revelry seems to have calmed down and re-enters the establishment, ready to get a bit of rest before the the expedition begins in earnest. 

Kel looks down at Asariel’s outstretched hand, then back up at the bard’s face, studying him for a beat. Slowly, his grin returns—not the sharp, teasing one, but something quieter, more thoughtful. He clasps Asariel’s hand firmly, giving it a shake before letting out a small chuckle.

“Two bards together,” he muses, shaking his head with exaggerated sorrow. “A single player’s a melody, but two? That’s a crowd. A bit too much disharmony for this fine gathering, it seems.” He releases Asariel’s hand with a rueful smile. “And me? I’ve never been much for quiet tunes.”

Stepping back, he turns to Arista, his expression softening into something warm and genuine. “But you,” he says, pointing at her with an easy confidence, “you’ve got the music in you, lass. I saw it plain as day. The way you stomped along, the way your face lit up—don’t ever be ashamed of that.” He spreads his arms wide. “Music is the great equalizer! You don’t need a lute or a fiddle to join in. Every soul’s got a song in ‘em—anyone can hum a note.”

With a wink, he adds, “An’ I reckon the world would be better for it if more folk did.”

His gaze sweeps the room one last time, landing on Kaelen as he reenters. He gives him a knowing nod as he strides past. “Keep puttin’ words to paper, lad. You never know—one day, I might be singin’ ‘em in a tavern just like this one. In front of adventurers not unlike yourself.” His voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent of sincerity beneath it. A promise, almost.

With that, Kel swings his pack over his shoulder, heading for the door. He pauses in the threshold, looking back over the room one last time. A lazy salute, a lopsided grin, and then—he’s gone.

Outside, the cool night air greets him, the stars glittering overhead. He tilts his head back, hands on his hips, exhaling a slow breath.

"Second star to the right," he murmurs to himself, a wistful glint in his eye.

"And straight on till morning."

Kaelen watches Kel’s departure from his place near the door, one brow arching subtly as the bard’s farewell registers. He says nothing at first, letting the tavern noise swell and fade behind Kel’s retreating form.

After a moment, he murmurs thoughtfully, “Must’ve had even more to drink than I thought. Either that, or I’ve been mistaken for a woman for most of my life and no one told me...”

Arista stands there for a moment, staring at the door Kel just walked through with the echoes of his cheerful farewell still humming in her ears. A knot forms in her chest, a pang of disbelief. In her mountain clan, you never let a companion storm off alone—survival demanded sticking together, no matter what. The friction between the two bards had been tense, sure, but nothing so dire that anyone should leave the group completely. Every step outside the tribe’s circle brought untold danger, and in Arista’s mind, that truth still held—even if the dangers here were very different.

She pushes her half-finished drink aside and murmurs to the others, “I can’t let him go off like that. We’re a pack now, even if we’ve barely met.” With that, she jogs toward the door, her armor clanking softly against her broad frame.

(The rest appears to play mostly in her mind as a plan formed, which appears to not pan out if she doesn't get sight of Kel...)

Arista slips back into the Wolf’s Clothing Inn, shoulders drooping from an unsuccessful search. She says nothing to the others who remain, simply taking her seat and finishing the dregs of her drink in silence. When night deepens, she turns in, mind buzzing with unanswered questions but body exhausted enough to sink instantly into dreamless sleep.

Morning finds her awake at first light despite the previous evening’s ale. She breathes in the crisp predawn air as she steps outside, letting the coolness clear her head. After a brisk stroll, she returns for a hearty breakfast of warm bread and savory stew. By the time the sun crests the horizon, Arista is at the inn’s entrance, gear secured and composure restored, ready to embark on the journey to the Old Keep. 

Ariana, and anyone else up and around is greeted outside the inn by Townmaster Burgos, who is is accompanied by a tall, well armed and armored Dragonborn. “Introductions are due, let’s gather and talk”, she says, walking inside.

She gathers you all, including Torban who is there with a full pack around the table from last night. “This is Brakka, he arrived too late for our meeting, but I’ve filled him in on the details. If rumors are accurate, we’re short a halfling this morning, so maybe he can help.”

The dragonborn ambles up beside Townmaster Burgos, his golden scales and polished armour gleaming slightly in the early morning light filtering inside. His yellow, draconic eyes survey the inn and then the group the Townmaster had gathered.

"Brekka Tholin, reporting for duty," he rumbles in his deep voice with a respectful nod to his new companions. He would offer his large, clawed hand in greeting to anyone who would accept it.

"Sorry I'm late. Wagon troubles."

With the man's size it may not be any wonder that a wagon had encountered 'troubles' transporting him and his belongings.

"But I'm here now and ready for our journey."