Sitting uncomfortably in a stagecoach the five of you have been dozing on and off, your speech only being perfunctory about the weather. You are sitting in your best clothes, your armour and weapons safely stowed in bags atop the stagecoach.
There is thick fog outside and those of you near the window have seen movement out in the woods.
Heya Giddup and you hear the crack of a whip, galvanising the horses into a controlled gallop. The coach swung from side to side not having been made for this speed. You feel vaguely nauseas.
The sound of wolves rings through the air, they are racing after the coach, attacking or escorting? You can make out their looks now, giant wolves with silver fur, pulling down the window you call out to the team master, what's happening?
They came out of the damned fog, shut the window! You see a wolf dive towards the horses, their screaming then the sound of a crossbow bolt. The wolf fell to the ground, twitching. The wolves around you all start to howl. There in the mists you see a werewolf half changed carrying weapons. They seem to be in command. You have never felt so helpless.
In front of you is salvation, the lights of a small town, Daggerford.
The stage coach rolls past the towns boundaries and you can smell a sweet scent on the breeze. Wolvesbane.
The coach driver swerves and pulls into the stable at the inn. This is as far as we're going tonight. The coach was supposed to stop here for a meal then continue onward through the night.
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring.
Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
You enter the coaching inn, to find what seems to be the entire community there. There is one table left by the fireplace, a small reserved sign on it you head towards it. Your evening meal is already paid for.
Vaelar moves quietly around the fringes of the crowded tavern, trying to avoid the prying eyes of the town's residents. Would they know what he was? Would they sense the wrongness that crawled through his veins just beneath his pallid skin? He reminds himself to pretend to breathe as he casts his piercing gaze across the room, taking the measure of the townsfolk.
He lowers himself into one of the chairs at the reserved table without a word. It is the seat farthest from the heat and light of the fire that chases the shadows away. He rests a tall, well-maintained longbow by the back of his chair as he swings a quiver down to sit next to it. Sheathed in a cross on his back are two blades, both hilts gleaming in the firelight.
He lets his black hair fall across his dull, grey eyes. They were a vibrant blue once, but not anymore. His features are angular, the sharp beauty of the elves evident, thought it is marred by his gaunt complexion. His pointed elven ears are alert for any whispering or muttering from those sitting nearby.
The young woman with the blonde braided hair had not spoken in the dark stagecoach, something clearly troubling her, even before the fog, and before the wolves harrying them. She had tensed as if ready to intervene, mumbling what sounded like quiet prayers, but she had then relaxed somewhat again as the stagecoach had reached Daggerford, stepping out and into the foggy night and over to the welcoming light of the tavern.
She moves through the crowd and over to the table by the fireplace, it's light dancing over her petite and almost radiant presence, her blonde braided hair lustrous in it's light. She wears a quite form-fitting white uniform of sorts with a golden sun prominently displayed on her chest, and she gives the pale dark-haired elf a small polite but slightly reserved smile as she takes a seat by the table. "Some fog tonight?"She says after a moment to break the awkward silence. "I am Lorelei." She adds before looking around to see if she could get the attention of anyone in the staff to bring the food and drink.
Aisha the barmaid headed towards the table. You're off the coach she asks, your dinner will be ready soon. I heard that you had a problem with the wolves. Dinner includes a jug of ale, I'll bring you it now.
The young woman with long brown hair had seemed rather tense during the harrowing carriage ride. She had kept her head down, listening to the sound of the wolves. She seemed resigned to whatever fate might bring.
As they reached the apparent safety of Daggerford, her demeanor hasn't really changed. Quietly she drew the hood of her cloak over her head and stepped out onto the foggy night to enter the tavern. For just a moment, her bright yellow eyes surveyed the mist, before she slipped into the tavern.
Following Vaelar's lead, she keeps to the fringes of the crowd as she makes her way to the table. She is just a bit under 6 feet tall, a tall and slender woman. Arriving at the table, she hesitates to remove her cloak, but eventually does. Beneath is a loose-fitting tunic and floor length shirt. They area similar color to her cloak - a brown with a dingy yellowish cast to it. The lower parts of her hair have beads woven in of various dull colors. And about her neck are a number of beaded necklaces.
Perhaps less obvious, but more attention grabbing if noticed, once her cloak is removed it can be seen that the back of her neck is covered with light, gold colored scales. They seem to go from her neck and over her shoulders, down below the neckline of her outfit.
Sitting down, all she says is, "Is there some wine?" She then settles in, waiting on her other companions.
Aisha returns with a large jug of nut brown ale. It gave off a spiced malty smell. The inn may be a little run down but the rushes on the floor were fresh and the local brew smelled like a good one.
Sorry miss, but wine is extra, I can give you a bottle for 2 silver. Its the latest ferment so its a little young to drink but it has a nice fruity flavour.
The woman gives the barest of shrugs when the waitress replies to her about the wine. "Ale's fine." She pulls over a glass, picks up the jug, and pours herself a half-glass. "Anyone else?" Her eyes search the others at the table.
"Please," Vaelar says in a quiet, raspy voice. He deftly slides a glass across the wooden table towards Crisaryn. He takes a moment to glance over his companions at the table, more properly taking them in the light of the tavern. His gaze lingered for half a moment on Crisaryn's golden scales.
He had been quiet and reserved on the carriage ride, but responded politely to any conversation. Though the wolves had obviously put him on high alert, he hadn't seemed disturbed by them. And now they were a distant memory.
"Vaelar," he says to introduce himself. His dark leather armour creaks quietly as he shifts in his chair. "The fog is thick tonight," he adds with a glance around the tavern. He finds the weight of all the people crowded in around him more oppressive than the eerie fog outside.
As the weary travelers drag themselves across the threshold of the small establishment, a slender drow male follows. He takes a deep inhale, savoring the scents of the place; smoke from a pipe and the fire, old ale, new ale, food cooking, and sweat of hard working common folk, and opportunity...
"Ah, so nice to be out of that carriage!" he says to no one in particular, adding in a loud stage whisper, "Although it looks like a few of wolves may be stalking around the gaming table..."
The ashy skinned Drow drew many eyes when he entered the inn, but he was quite used to that. As a matter of fact, he loved it. A dazzling white smile greeted anyone looking his way. White hair, streaked with gray the color of angry storm clouds, framed his handsome face and stood out against his fine dark colored clothing.
Turning to the server, he asked, "Perhaps we could arrange a barter.... food and drinks for my traveling companions in exchange for entertainment?" He dipped into a low, graceful bow, the neck of his lute peeking teasingly over his shoulder.
"Illmirth Vae'Drynn, singer of songs, teller of tales, and dancer extraordinaire," he says with a sincere grin.
Crisaryn turns her head to Vaelar as he slides his glass over, pouring the ale until the glass is full. She then makes a small motion with her hand as her arcane words cause a spectral hand to appear near the glass. It grasps the glass and slides it back to the pallid skinned being. Once delivered, the hand vanishes.
When he mentions 'the fog is thick tonight', she just looks back at him blankly.
The young woman with the blonde braided hair had briefly considered the wine but settled for the ale, giving the exotically beautiful barmaid a polite smile as she brings the jug of ale. "I'll have one too please."She says to the young woman with the golden scales, giving her a curious look and a small smile.
"I think the food and drinks are already paid for Illmirth, but don't let that stop you from entertaining us, we could use something to lift our spirits this night."She says to the grinning drow with a small amused smile.
"Well, I don't normally just give it away...." he says with a sparkle in his eye. His good natured smile gave away any any attempt to look serious. "Who am I trying to fool, I give it away all the time."
Illmirth began to give the room a more serious look over, trying to determine how much room he had to work with.
***OoC: accidental send on an unfinished post. Will add to it shortly.***
He raises a thin, white eyebrow as he looks at the ale. "Much like you, Crisaryn, I favor the fruit of the vine. Ms. Aisha, do you by chance have a "special" reserve vintage, tucked away in the cellar? I'm sure that your ale is superb, and I can see it is well received, but I confess that my heart was hopeful to taste the Daggerford Clarry that I have heard so much about." He stood up tall and proper and recited in soft, measured words, "A delicate balance of floral and citrus notes. A veritable bouquet of subtle flavors found only in the grapes of Daggerford." Returning to his normal conversational voice and posture, he said, "Or so it was once described to me."
Turning a practiced eye back to his spacial constraints, he began to run through his typical repertoire. Nothing seemed quite fitting to his current situation, so he took the events of the day and improvised.
He summoned an upbeat bass line utilizing a simple spell. His body moved with grace, sliding and gliding throughout the room in a manner that seemed effortless. When he was certain he had the room's attention he began to sing.
Stalked in the forest, too close to hide
I'll be upon you by the moonlight side
Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do
Magic drumming in the air feels so right
You're running prey, I'm just a moment behind
Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do
In touch with the ground
I'm on the hunt I'm after you
A scent and a sound, I'm lost and I'm found
And I'm hungry like the wolf.
He danced as he sang, graceful movements and spins that timed so perfectly to his beat and lyrics it looked like had practiced hundreds of times.
When the music ended, he bowed gracefully to the room and rejoined his traveling companions at the table. Sweating just a bit, he accepted the ale with a nod of gratitude (or wine if his probe bore fruit).
***OoC: Performance: 23. Minor illusion for the background music.***
Vaelar's grey eyes track the spectral hand that passes him his drink. He watches it carefully until it dissipates. Even then it takes him another moment to touch the mug himself. His fingers are slender as he wraps them around the mug to lift it to his lips. He drinks warily at first but then takes a proper mouthful.
"Thank you, miss. Do you have a name?" he asks in his hoarse tone as he turns his attention to their evening's entertainment. While there is no bright mirth in his eyes, he watches with muted enjoyment.
As the others file in and retain a sense of mirth in what was at once a dire moment on the road, the last to leave the carriage opts to hang back. His eyes glitter in the baleful yellow light of the tavern, but he expects to see nothing beyond the imperceptible veil of dense fog around him. With a soft sigh, he whispers a simple prayer for others on this nightmarish stretch of beast-infested road, hoping that on the offchance they do not survive the horrors along its path, they may at least forge peace in the next life. With that, he lingers at the entrance no longer, stepping into the warm common of the tavern.
The din of fervent muttering is evident all around and the scent of brew is strong in the air, so much that it brings a wrinkle to the old paladins' nose as he settles in among those he'd been traveling aside. The chatter amongst them is typical of more than a few hunts that he could remember, rife with bouts of merriment, whispers of the road, and a song or two by the firelight. But for the abomination he hunts, he knows the mirth will end soon. When it does, he will be ready. But until it does, he will not be untowards to those who walk alongside him.
Taking his place amongst the others, he sits in preference with his back to the corner, his gaze cast across the whole of the inns' common, between what would seem to be a rather weary pale elf and whom he assumes to be a rather pluckish priestess of a sort. Rummaging about in his pocket, he takes a only a moment to address the others. "Blessings of the Dawn surely hath found us, to have been in capable hands this night. Thou mayest address myself as Murdock, a sworn Scholar and Pursuer unto Lathanders' word." At last, he pulls a small battered prayer book from his trousers, the tinkle of his mail rattling with his hand as he opens it to his favored passage.
Taking yet another second, he turns to the server, his eyes noticeably a tad cold despite his warm greeting and smile. "Dear Miss. Dost ye have water or milk instead? I'm afraid my vow keeps me ever vigilant. Though brew or wine wouldst with no doubt warm these old bones o mine, my duty keepst me without the spirits' kiss." Regardless of her answer, he gives again a tired smile and dips his head to his prayer book, softy humming a hymnal as his hands pass over faded text. He need not actually read. He knows the book by heart. Tis but a ritual, one he is keen to follow through.
The young woman with the blonde braided hair gives Crisaryn a nod and a small smile of gratitude as the ale is poured, taking a quick gulp to slake her thirst. She then watches with a small smile as the peculiar drow takes the floor. His performance was nothing like she had ever seen before, the dancing and the singing, it was honestly quite good but she was even more amused with how he just stood up in the crowd and started dancing and singing, laughing softly in the end and clapping her hands, feeling somewhat more lighthearted now.
As the last person from the stagecoach joins them at the table her eyes widen with curiosity as he presents himself as another servant of the Morninglord, not quite following his somewhat archaic speech at first, but it reminded her of her mentor, the thought bringing her good mood down again. While curious about the others at the table, her mind keeps returning to the strange fog and the wolves that had come out of the night.
The starting Tarroka deck reading.
DM
Sitting uncomfortably in a stagecoach the five of you have been dozing on and off, your speech only being perfunctory about the weather. You are sitting in your best clothes, your armour and weapons safely stowed in bags atop the stagecoach.
There is thick fog outside and those of you near the window have seen movement out in the woods.
Heya Giddup and you hear the crack of a whip, galvanising the horses into a controlled gallop. The coach swung from side to side not having been made for this speed. You feel vaguely nauseas.
The sound of wolves rings through the air, they are racing after the coach, attacking or escorting? You can make out their looks now, giant wolves with silver fur, pulling down the window you call out to the team master, what's happening?
They came out of the damned fog, shut the window! You see a wolf dive towards the horses, their screaming then the sound of a crossbow bolt. The wolf fell to the ground, twitching. The wolves around you all start to howl. There in the mists you see a werewolf half changed carrying weapons. They seem to be in command. You have never felt so helpless.
In front of you is salvation, the lights of a small town, Daggerford.
The stage coach rolls past the towns boundaries and you can smell a sweet scent on the breeze. Wolvesbane.
The coach driver swerves and pulls into the stable at the inn. This is as far as we're going tonight. The coach was supposed to stop here for a meal then continue onward through the night.
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring.
Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
You enter the coaching inn, to find what seems to be the entire community there. There is one table left by the fireplace, a small reserved sign on it you head towards it. Your evening meal is already paid for.
DM
Please put your character name at the top of each post to help avoid confusion. Thank you.
Introduce yourselves to each other.
Vaelar Lorynwen
Vaelar moves quietly around the fringes of the crowded tavern, trying to avoid the prying eyes of the town's residents. Would they know what he was? Would they sense the wrongness that crawled through his veins just beneath his pallid skin? He reminds himself to pretend to breathe as he casts his piercing gaze across the room, taking the measure of the townsfolk.
He lowers himself into one of the chairs at the reserved table without a word. It is the seat farthest from the heat and light of the fire that chases the shadows away. He rests a tall, well-maintained longbow by the back of his chair as he swings a quiver down to sit next to it. Sheathed in a cross on his back are two blades, both hilts gleaming in the firelight.
He lets his black hair fall across his dull, grey eyes. They were a vibrant blue once, but not anymore. His features are angular, the sharp beauty of the elves evident, thought it is marred by his gaunt complexion. His pointed elven ears are alert for any whispering or muttering from those sitting nearby.
Lorelei Dawnwarden
The young woman with the blonde braided hair had not spoken in the dark stagecoach, something clearly troubling her, even before the fog, and before the wolves harrying them. She had tensed as if ready to intervene, mumbling what sounded like quiet prayers, but she had then relaxed somewhat again as the stagecoach had reached Daggerford, stepping out and into the foggy night and over to the welcoming light of the tavern.
She moves through the crowd and over to the table by the fireplace, it's light dancing over her petite and almost radiant presence, her blonde braided hair lustrous in it's light. She wears a quite form-fitting white uniform of sorts with a golden sun prominently displayed on her chest, and she gives the pale dark-haired elf a small polite but slightly reserved smile as she takes a seat by the table. "Some fog tonight?" She says after a moment to break the awkward silence. "I am Lorelei." She adds before looking around to see if she could get the attention of anyone in the staff to bring the food and drink.
DM
Aisha the barmaid headed towards the table. You're off the coach she asks, your dinner will be ready soon. I heard that you had a problem with the wolves. Dinner includes a jug of ale, I'll bring you it now.
Crisaryn Melkial
The young woman with long brown hair had seemed rather tense during the harrowing carriage ride. She had kept her head down, listening to the sound of the wolves. She seemed resigned to whatever fate might bring.
As they reached the apparent safety of Daggerford, her demeanor hasn't really changed. Quietly she drew the hood of her cloak over her head and stepped out onto the foggy night to enter the tavern. For just a moment, her bright yellow eyes surveyed the mist, before she slipped into the tavern.
Following Vaelar's lead, she keeps to the fringes of the crowd as she makes her way to the table. She is just a bit under 6 feet tall, a tall and slender woman. Arriving at the table, she hesitates to remove her cloak, but eventually does. Beneath is a loose-fitting tunic and floor length shirt. They area similar color to her cloak - a brown with a dingy yellowish cast to it. The lower parts of her hair have beads woven in of various dull colors. And about her neck are a number of beaded necklaces.
Perhaps less obvious, but more attention grabbing if noticed, once her cloak is removed it can be seen that the back of her neck is covered with light, gold colored scales. They seem to go from her neck and over her shoulders, down below the neckline of her outfit.
Sitting down, all she says is, "Is there some wine?" She then settles in, waiting on her other companions.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
DM
Aisha returns with a large jug of nut brown ale. It gave off a spiced malty smell. The inn may be a little run down but the rushes on the floor were fresh and the local brew smelled like a good one.
Sorry miss, but wine is extra, I can give you a bottle for 2 silver. Its the latest ferment so its a little young to drink but it has a nice fruity flavour.
Crisaryn Melkial
The woman gives the barest of shrugs when the waitress replies to her about the wine. "Ale's fine." She pulls over a glass, picks up the jug, and pours herself a half-glass. "Anyone else?" Her eyes search the others at the table.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Vaelar
"Please," Vaelar says in a quiet, raspy voice. He deftly slides a glass across the wooden table towards Crisaryn. He takes a moment to glance over his companions at the table, more properly taking them in the light of the tavern. His gaze lingered for half a moment on Crisaryn's golden scales.
He had been quiet and reserved on the carriage ride, but responded politely to any conversation. Though the wolves had obviously put him on high alert, he hadn't seemed disturbed by them. And now they were a distant memory.
"Vaelar," he says to introduce himself. His dark leather armour creaks quietly as he shifts in his chair. "The fog is thick tonight," he adds with a glance around the tavern. He finds the weight of all the people crowded in around him more oppressive than the eerie fog outside.
Illmirth Vae'Drynn
As the weary travelers drag themselves across the threshold of the small establishment, a slender drow male follows. He takes a deep inhale, savoring the scents of the place; smoke from a pipe and the fire, old ale, new ale, food cooking, and sweat of hard working common folk, and opportunity...
"Ah, so nice to be out of that carriage!" he says to no one in particular, adding in a loud stage whisper, "Although it looks like a few of wolves may be stalking around the gaming table..."
The ashy skinned Drow drew many eyes when he entered the inn, but he was quite used to that. As a matter of fact, he loved it. A dazzling white smile greeted anyone looking his way. White hair, streaked with gray the color of angry storm clouds, framed his handsome face and stood out against his fine dark colored clothing.
Turning to the server, he asked, "Perhaps we could arrange a barter.... food and drinks for my traveling companions in exchange for entertainment?" He dipped into a low, graceful bow, the neck of his lute peeking teasingly over his shoulder.
"Illmirth Vae'Drynn, singer of songs, teller of tales, and dancer extraordinaire," he says with a sincere grin.
Crisaryn Melkial
Crisaryn turns her head to Vaelar as he slides his glass over, pouring the ale until the glass is full. She then makes a small motion with her hand as her arcane words cause a spectral hand to appear near the glass. It grasps the glass and slides it back to the pallid skinned being. Once delivered, the hand vanishes.
When he mentions 'the fog is thick tonight', she just looks back at him blankly.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Lorelei Dawnwarden
The young woman with the blonde braided hair had briefly considered the wine but settled for the ale, giving the exotically beautiful barmaid a polite smile as she brings the jug of ale. "I'll have one too please." She says to the young woman with the golden scales, giving her a curious look and a small smile.
"I think the food and drinks are already paid for Illmirth, but don't let that stop you from entertaining us, we could use something to lift our spirits this night." She says to the grinning drow with a small amused smile.
"Well, I don't normally just give it away...." he says with a sparkle in his eye. His good natured smile gave away any any attempt to look serious. "Who am I trying to fool, I give it away all the time."
Illmirth began to give the room a more serious look over, trying to determine how much room he had to work with.
***OoC: accidental send on an unfinished post. Will add to it shortly.***
Crisaryn Melkial
The woman turns this time to Lorelei, pouring the ale to fill her glass as well. Cisaryn says, "There." She looks at Illmirth, "Ale?"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Illmirth:
He raises a thin, white eyebrow as he looks at the ale. "Much like you, Crisaryn, I favor the fruit of the vine. Ms. Aisha, do you by chance have a "special" reserve vintage, tucked away in the cellar? I'm sure that your ale is superb, and I can see it is well received, but I confess that my heart was hopeful to taste the Daggerford Clarry that I have heard so much about." He stood up tall and proper and recited in soft, measured words, "A delicate balance of floral and citrus notes. A veritable bouquet of subtle flavors found only in the grapes of Daggerford." Returning to his normal conversational voice and posture, he said, "Or so it was once described to me."
Turning a practiced eye back to his spacial constraints, he began to run through his typical repertoire. Nothing seemed quite fitting to his current situation, so he took the events of the day and improvised.
He summoned an upbeat bass line utilizing a simple spell. His body moved with grace, sliding and gliding throughout the room in a manner that seemed effortless. When he was certain he had the room's attention he began to sing.
Stalked in the forest, too close to hide
I'll be upon you by the moonlight side
Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do
Magic drumming in the air feels so right
You're running prey, I'm just a moment behind
Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do
In touch with the ground
I'm on the hunt I'm after you
A scent and a sound, I'm lost and I'm found
And I'm hungry like the wolf.
He danced as he sang, graceful movements and spins that timed so perfectly to his beat and lyrics it looked like had practiced hundreds of times.
When the music ended, he bowed gracefully to the room and rejoined his traveling companions at the table. Sweating just a bit, he accepted the ale with a nod of gratitude (or wine if his probe bore fruit).
***OoC: Performance: 23. Minor illusion for the background music.***
Vaelar
Vaelar's grey eyes track the spectral hand that passes him his drink. He watches it carefully until it dissipates. Even then it takes him another moment to touch the mug himself. His fingers are slender as he wraps them around the mug to lift it to his lips. He drinks warily at first but then takes a proper mouthful.
"Thank you, miss. Do you have a name?" he asks in his hoarse tone as he turns his attention to their evening's entertainment. While there is no bright mirth in his eyes, he watches with muted enjoyment.
Murdock
As the others file in and retain a sense of mirth in what was at once a dire moment on the road, the last to leave the carriage opts to hang back. His eyes glitter in the baleful yellow light of the tavern, but he expects to see nothing beyond the imperceptible veil of dense fog around him. With a soft sigh, he whispers a simple prayer for others on this nightmarish stretch of beast-infested road, hoping that on the offchance they do not survive the horrors along its path, they may at least forge peace in the next life. With that, he lingers at the entrance no longer, stepping into the warm common of the tavern.
The din of fervent muttering is evident all around and the scent of brew is strong in the air, so much that it brings a wrinkle to the old paladins' nose as he settles in among those he'd been traveling aside. The chatter amongst them is typical of more than a few hunts that he could remember, rife with bouts of merriment, whispers of the road, and a song or two by the firelight. But for the abomination he hunts, he knows the mirth will end soon. When it does, he will be ready. But until it does, he will not be untowards to those who walk alongside him.
Taking his place amongst the others, he sits in preference with his back to the corner, his gaze cast across the whole of the inns' common, between what would seem to be a rather weary pale elf and whom he assumes to be a rather pluckish priestess of a sort. Rummaging about in his pocket, he takes a only a moment to address the others. "Blessings of the Dawn surely hath found us, to have been in capable hands this night. Thou mayest address myself as Murdock, a sworn Scholar and Pursuer unto Lathanders' word." At last, he pulls a small battered prayer book from his trousers, the tinkle of his mail rattling with his hand as he opens it to his favored passage.
Taking yet another second, he turns to the server, his eyes noticeably a tad cold despite his warm greeting and smile. "Dear Miss. Dost ye have water or milk instead? I'm afraid my vow keeps me ever vigilant. Though brew or wine wouldst with no doubt warm these old bones o mine, my duty keepst me without the spirits' kiss." Regardless of her answer, he gives again a tired smile and dips his head to his prayer book, softy humming a hymnal as his hands pass over faded text. He need not actually read. He knows the book by heart. Tis but a ritual, one he is keen to follow through.
Crisaryn Melkial
The woman with long brown hair simply says, "Crisaryn." She then fills a glass with ale for Illmirth. (Or not if his probe bore fruit!)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Lorelei Dawnwarden
The young woman with the blonde braided hair gives Crisaryn a nod and a small smile of gratitude as the ale is poured, taking a quick gulp to slake her thirst. She then watches with a small smile as the peculiar drow takes the floor. His performance was nothing like she had ever seen before, the dancing and the singing, it was honestly quite good but she was even more amused with how he just stood up in the crowd and started dancing and singing, laughing softly in the end and clapping her hands, feeling somewhat more lighthearted now.
As the last person from the stagecoach joins them at the table her eyes widen with curiosity as he presents himself as another servant of the Morninglord, not quite following his somewhat archaic speech at first, but it reminded her of her mentor, the thought bringing her good mood down again. While curious about the others at the table, her mind keeps returning to the strange fog and the wolves that had come out of the night.