Ayla's expression drifts into something dangerously close to dreamy at the mention of the clawfoot tub. For a moment, she isn't in a sticky Dock Ward tavern, but submerged in steaming water with a glass of chilled wine in hand instead. Xari's words that she is indeed looking young and lovely push her further into the bubble, even if they've been spoken in an attempt to save him from the ridiculous situation she's put him into. She offers him a faint, magnanimous nod at his correction and sighs in contentment.
However, just then Caragh's sharp wit hits her like a splash of cold water, popping the bubble. At the jab of being old and immature, Ayla lets out a distinctly un-regal "Hmph!" and sticks her tongue out at the bard like a spoiled little child. It is a move that entirely proves Caragh's point, but Ayla is far too busy feeling vindicated to care, although she really struggles not to grin at the exchange.
Instead, she reaches for the pitcher and pours herself a drink with the skepticism of a royal taster, lifting the mug to inspect the liquid's clarity. She is just about to offer a critique on the ale's quality (which she is certain the others desperately need to hear) when her sensitive elven ears are assaulted by the rising voices somewhere behind her. While she might have been forgiving had those voices been raised in her honor, these slurred shouts are clearly anything but. They do, however, sound like an impending drama.
The silver-haired woman winces visibly, her nose wrinkling as her jaw goes tight. When the voices fail to subside, she rolls her eyes and lets out a long, melodramatic sigh, then turns slowly in her seat, golden eyes narrowing as they scan the crowd for the agitators responsible for her incoming headache. (Perception: 17, if a roll is needed)
When you turn, you catch it in a small break between bodies, and probably only moments before it becomes everyone’s problem.
Two merchants are wedged into a narrow lane between tables, faces flushed from drink and heat. They’re dressed a little too fine for Dock Ward, but not fine enough to belong to the Sea Ward crowd. They have good wool, decent boots, belts heavy with coin, and the kind of rings a man wears to look richer than he is. One of them is broad and red-faced, sweating through his collar, his vest straining over a round belly. He’s clutching a mug against his chest with one hand like it's his most prized possession on a sinking ship.
The other is leaner, sharper, younger by a decade, hair mussed and eyes glassy with outrage. He’s got both hands on that same mug, yanking as if he can pull the whole thing free by force of indignation. His words come out thick, slurred, and loud. “Gimme that, you drunk bastard—” he spits again, tugging hard. “You’ve already got a fat enough gut!” Around them, people are noticing. A couple of dockhands have turned in their chairs with eager grins, already smelling entertainment. Someone laughs. Someone else says, “Oi, not the ale!” with a chuckle. The server who helped you earlier hesitates nearby with a tray for a moment, then makes a beeline for bar.
Ayla studies the two men with pure, unadulterated judgement. Her golden eyes track the sharp-faced younger man's hands as they yank at the mug, then flicker to the older man's straining vest with a mix of horror and fascination.
"Look at them," she says, just as much to herself as to her companions. "They’re dressed like they want to be respected, yet they're behaving like two squirrels fighting over a fermented nut. It's positively embarrassing."
She shifts in her seat, her fingers casually resting on her mahogany staff, more out of habit than anything else.
"If that man's button snaps from the strain, I truly hope it doesn't land in my ale," she mutters to the others, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "I've only just poured it, and I'd rather not have anything extra as a garnish."
Taking a small sip from the mug, she looks at Arthurover the rim. "That's settled then. When we've exhausted ourselves tonight we're going to your home. Does this mean we get to see your room?"
"My room? No. Absolutely not."Arthursays with a nervous chuckle, afterwards distracting himself with another long drink from his tankard. He refills it from the pitcher, then turns his attention to Xarianagain.
Xari's face grows serious (instead of chagrined as he was with Ayla) as he accepts the tankard of ale and takes a large sip.
"I trust you, Arthur. Surly and prickly can be all right. Sometimes." Another sip. The big man's eyes grow distant, stutter momentarily gone. "Bully. Bully is what I can't stand. But you already know that. Happy to help if you ever need a hand with one of these jobs, yeah?"
"Yeah, I know..." He says, glancing down at the amber liquid in his mug before looking up again. "I'll definitely loop you in next time, it's ah...Usually just small stuff. I suppose it can get a little crazy sometimes."
The young noble follows Ayla'sgaze to the two merchants, and he grimaces. "Oh...I forgot to warn you all." He pauses for a moment, head tilting curiously as he watches the scene. "People get pretty rowdy during this tenday. That,"Arthurnods towards the pair, "is probably going to turn into a fight. Might drag the whole tavern into it."
"The Watch doesn't even bother trying to police it unless someone is dumb enough to draw steel or dangerous magic."
With that, he hurriedly begins gulping down the ale in his mug, all too aware that it might be his last chance before things get out of hand.
Seylne's eyes light up mischievously with Arthur'sdenial, and she leans towards him. "Come onnn, don't be that way,Ama'Ar" she says, voice lilting as she slips in the elvish nickname she'd bestowed years ago: literally meaning 'sunflower,' after the tone of his hair. "What's all the secrecy for? Are your walls plastered with commissioned artwork of us because you missed us so much? Ohh. Or do you have poetry scattered about for some secret lover? Hmm?" She starts to poke at his ribs with both hands, trying to tease the truth out of him.
Look at them. Her hands drop back into her lap slowly at Ayla's voice, and like Arthur she turns to look at who she's speaking of. After the human noble's explanation of what might happen next, her eyes widen in delight. "Yesss! A bar fight, I've heard about these! We have to take part!" She says, beaming with excitement."Look who we'd have on our team, we can't lose," she continues, turning her gaze to Xarianand gesturing at him. "You'll join in won't you Xari?"
Xari follows Ayla's gaze towards the two quarrelling men and lets out an imperceptible sigh. He looks down at his own mug of ale, barely touched.
His eyes widen when Selyne, as he should have guessed, appears positively giddy about the prospect of an all out bar brawl. Xari shakes his head in fond disbelief at his elven friend's enthusiasm. Instead, he directs his words at Arthur, the fellow local, and at Caragh, whose judgement he trusts for this.
"You know, time with friends is precious and mugs of ale are cheap, even for someone who is... a little scared of luxurious villas as I am."
The big man stands up, not slouching for once. His stutter seems gone, as is often the case when he witnesses anything akin or even adjacent to bullying.
"I've got a mug of ale too, still pretty full. Two mugs for two men could cool things off. Or not. I can go try to separate them, or drag them outside to have it out with each other, or helpCaragh convince them to leave off. If you two think it's worth a try, that is." Xari looks to Arthur and Caragh.
"I'm not usually one to put myself in the middle of two drunks starting a stupid fight,"Caraghsays. Though it seems as she too followed Ayla'sgaze, she was considering the situation still. She gives a quick glance over at Selyne. "While certainly a bar fight can be fun, they tend to be unpredictable. Things get out of hand. And despite what Arthur says about the Watch turning a blind eye, seems like they always show up just in time to misconstrue a situation." She takes another deep drink of her ale then sets the mug down on their table as she starts to stand.
"Xari, why don't you come with me?" she says firmly. Caraghthen walks straight over to the two men that seem on the brink of an altercation. Once right next to them she softens her voice as she speaks to them. "Oh my, dear sirs. How is it that the two of you have come to covet the same mug of ale? I know the Mooring Knot has not run dry. But my associate here has a couple of drinks that should keep you from feeling your thirst." At this point she glances back to Xari, hoping he had remembered to bring the mugs he had mentioned earlier.
With a shy smile, she bats her eyes at the pair. "And two elegant gentlemen like yourselves could surely repay the favor by buying me a drink? And perhaps another for one of my two elven friends back there?" She gives a glance and a wave back towards Selyneand Alya, before turning her attention back towards the pair.
Both of the men are well beyond the territory of a simple buzz. They're drunk and already angry. When both of their gazes snap to you, their jaws go tight and their brows furrow. You've seen how pig-headed men can get when they're this drunk.
Xari steps up behind Caragh readily, holding a second poured mug of ale along with his own (barely touched), setting them down in easy reach of both men. Uncharacteristically, he stands up straight, looming to nearly six and a half feet, and obviously wearing armor, though making no move towards the hafts of his maul or greatsword clearly poking out over his shoulder. His drawl is conversational and laconic, with no hint of a stutter.
"Aye, plenty of ale to go around in what looks a lot like a tavern to me. Turns out, I got couple tankards of it right here, free of charge for you two. So I'm thinking you've got two choices. Drink up and buy a couple mugs for my female friends here who are so easy on the eyes. Or..."
The big man tilts his head. Not unfriendly.
"Or you could decide to keep going as you are. Then I might feel the need to do something. And you might want to do something in return, as might he. So we'd all be doing things. And we'd all have a worse day, yeah? Just in general. Except the petite brunette one back there. She might like it."
Ayla keeps her eyes on the pair of drunken fools, only taking a moment to glance at Selyne and grin mischievously.
"Want to bet on who throws the first punch? A bottle of wine is on me if it isn't the rounder one," she says quietly to the other elf, as she returns her gaze on Caragh now.
Seylne's eyes light up mischievously with Arthur'sdenial, and she leans towards him. "Come onnn, don't be that way,Ama'Ar" she says, voice lilting as she slips in the elvish nickname she'd bestowed years ago: literally meaning 'sunflower,' after the tone of his hair. "What's all the secrecy for? Are your walls plastered with commissioned artwork of us because you missed us so much? Ohh. Or do you have poetry scattered about for some secret lover? Hmm?" She starts to poke at his ribs with both hands, trying to tease the truth out of him.
"N-no, it's—nothing—like—that." The noblechokes out, each word punctuated by a stifled laugh as he wiggles in the chair trying to avoid Selyne'sattempts to hit his ticklish spots. "There's no paintings and no secret lover." He finally huffs, scooting his chair back out of her reach. "It's just. Uh..." He trails off, wracking his brain for a viable excuse. Thankfully, he's saved by the action of Caraghand Xarian.
As they arrive next to the drunken merchants, Arthurgrimaces faintly. "If I had to bet, I'd say the younger one..." He says sidelong to Ayla, eyes focused on the pair confronting the drunks. With a sigh, he takes another long draught from his own tankard and stands up."You're probably going to get your brawl, Selyne."
"You what?" The younger skinny one says, looking from the Xarian to Caraghwith a momentarily look of confusion on their faces. Any other day, or even earlier today, the pair might have withered at the mere sight of Xarian's towering height. But they'd been filling themselves with liquid courage for the better part of the afternoon and evening. Drunk as they were, they still recognized a threat when they head it. Their confusion quickly melts into anger. "You might need to do something? I'll give you shomething to do!" The portly man roars, dropping the contested mug entirely and pulling back his fist.
The rest of the tavern erupts. The dockhands who had started to egg them on stand up immediately with grins on their faces, looking for their own trouble. Across the tavern's common room people hurry out of their seats, some to flee, but many to jump in on the fun. Some bare fists, others wield their tankards or pitchers. The two servers and the tavernkeeper (who has an exasperated but unsurprised look on his face), sink down to take cover behind the bar.
Giving a slight shake of her head, Caragh is in disbelief that this besotted pair decide to escalate the situation with them. It takes her a moment to react.
The two drunk merchants are outlined in red ('M1' and 'M2').
For the rest of the patrons, it's a practical free-for-all. The merchants are focused on Caraghand Xarian. A pair of men that look like sailors('P6' and 'P7') at the table across from the other three have glanced over at Selyne'striumphant shout.
Let me know where you want your familiar tokens placed.
Selynereaches across, taking Arthur'smostly empty tankard before hopping up on the table. "GET THEM XARI! INCOMING!" She yells over the chaos, throwing the tankard across the room at the head of the portly merchant{Ranged Improvised Weapon Attack:22to hit or 12w/disadvantage | 6Damage}.
After that she hops off the table to the side, ducking her head and pressing up against the nobleman's back. "Now hide me." She whispers frantically.
Ayla's expression drifts into something dangerously close to dreamy at the mention of the clawfoot tub. For a moment, she isn't in a sticky Dock Ward tavern, but submerged in steaming water with a glass of chilled wine in hand instead. Xari's words that she is indeed looking young and lovely push her further into the bubble, even if they've been spoken in an attempt to save him from the ridiculous situation she's put him into. She offers him a faint, magnanimous nod at his correction and sighs in contentment.
However, just then Caragh's sharp wit hits her like a splash of cold water, popping the bubble. At the jab of being old and immature, Ayla lets out a distinctly un-regal "Hmph!" and sticks her tongue out at the bard like a spoiled little child. It is a move that entirely proves Caragh's point, but Ayla is far too busy feeling vindicated to care, although she really struggles not to grin at the exchange.
Instead, she reaches for the pitcher and pours herself a drink with the skepticism of a royal taster, lifting the mug to inspect the liquid's clarity. She is just about to offer a critique on the ale's quality (which she is certain the others desperately need to hear) when her sensitive elven ears are assaulted by the rising voices somewhere behind her. While she might have been forgiving had those voices been raised in her honor, these slurred shouts are clearly anything but. They do, however, sound like an impending drama.
The silver-haired woman winces visibly, her nose wrinkling as her jaw goes tight. When the voices fail to subside, she rolls her eyes and lets out a long, melodramatic sigh, then turns slowly in her seat, golden eyes narrowing as they scan the crowd for the agitators responsible for her incoming headache. (Perception: 17, if a roll is needed)
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
Ayla
When you turn, you catch it in a small break between bodies, and probably only moments before it becomes everyone’s problem.
Two merchants are wedged into a narrow lane between tables, faces flushed from drink and heat. They’re dressed a little too fine for Dock Ward, but not fine enough to belong to the Sea Ward crowd. They have good wool, decent boots, belts heavy with coin, and the kind of rings a man wears to look richer than he is. One of them is broad and red-faced, sweating through his collar, his vest straining over a round belly. He’s clutching a mug against his chest with one hand like it's his most prized possession on a sinking ship.
The other is leaner, sharper, younger by a decade, hair mussed and eyes glassy with outrage. He’s got both hands on that same mug, yanking as if he can pull the whole thing free by force of indignation. His words come out thick, slurred, and loud. “Gimme that, you drunk bastard—” he spits again, tugging hard. “You’ve already got a fat enough gut!” Around them, people are noticing. A couple of dockhands have turned in their chairs with eager grins, already smelling entertainment. Someone laughs. Someone else says, “Oi, not the ale!” with a chuckle. The server who helped you earlier hesitates nearby with a tray for a moment, then makes a beeline for bar.
Ayla studies the two men with pure, unadulterated judgement. Her golden eyes track the sharp-faced younger man's hands as they yank at the mug, then flicker to the older man's straining vest with a mix of horror and fascination.
"Look at them," she says, just as much to herself as to her companions. "They’re dressed like they want to be respected, yet they're behaving like two squirrels fighting over a fermented nut. It's positively embarrassing."
She shifts in her seat, her fingers casually resting on her mahogany staff, more out of habit than anything else.
"If that man's button snaps from the strain, I truly hope it doesn't land in my ale," she mutters to the others, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "I've only just poured it, and I'd rather not have anything extra as a garnish."
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
"My room? No. Absolutely not." Arthur says with a nervous chuckle, afterwards distracting himself with another long drink from his tankard. He refills it from the pitcher, then turns his attention to Xarian again.
"Yeah, I know..." He says, glancing down at the amber liquid in his mug before looking up again. "I'll definitely loop you in next time, it's ah...Usually just small stuff. I suppose it can get a little crazy sometimes."
The young noble follows Ayla's gaze to the two merchants, and he grimaces. "Oh...I forgot to warn you all." He pauses for a moment, head tilting curiously as he watches the scene. "People get pretty rowdy during this tenday. That," Arthur nods towards the pair, "is probably going to turn into a fight. Might drag the whole tavern into it."
"The Watch doesn't even bother trying to police it unless someone is dumb enough to draw steel or dangerous magic."
With that, he hurriedly begins gulping down the ale in his mug, all too aware that it might be his last chance before things get out of hand.
Seylne's eyes light up mischievously with Arthur's denial, and she leans towards him. "Come onnn, don't be that way, Ama'Ar" she says, voice lilting as she slips in the elvish nickname she'd bestowed years ago: literally meaning 'sunflower,' after the tone of his hair. "What's all the secrecy for? Are your walls plastered with commissioned artwork of us because you missed us so much? Ohh. Or do you have poetry scattered about for some secret lover? Hmm?" She starts to poke at his ribs with both hands, trying to tease the truth out of him.
Look at them. Her hands drop back into her lap slowly at Ayla's voice, and like Arthur she turns to look at who she's speaking of. After the human noble's explanation of what might happen next, her eyes widen in delight. "Yesss! A bar fight, I've heard about these! We have to take part!" She says, beaming with excitement. "Look who we'd have on our team, we can't lose," she continues, turning her gaze to Xarian and gesturing at him. "You'll join in won't you Xari?"
Xari follows Ayla's gaze towards the two quarrelling men and lets out an imperceptible sigh. He looks down at his own mug of ale, barely touched.
His eyes widen when Selyne, as he should have guessed, appears positively giddy about the prospect of an all out bar brawl. Xari shakes his head in fond disbelief at his elven friend's enthusiasm. Instead, he directs his words at Arthur, the fellow local, and at Caragh, whose judgement he trusts for this.
"You know, time with friends is precious and mugs of ale are cheap, even for someone who is... a little scared of luxurious villas as I am."
The big man stands up, not slouching for once. His stutter seems gone, as is often the case when he witnesses anything akin or even adjacent to bullying.
"I've got a mug of ale too, still pretty full. Two mugs for two men could cool things off. Or not. I can go try to separate them, or drag them outside to have it out with each other, or help Caragh convince them to leave off. If you two think it's worth a try, that is." Xari looks to Arthur and Caragh.
Tanis (Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Barn (Paladin1): Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra (Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Joren (Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha (Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Quyen (Adept1, ba5ic system): ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord)
Xarian (Fighter3): Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map
"I'm not usually one to put myself in the middle of two drunks starting a stupid fight," Caragh says. Though it seems as she too followed Ayla's gaze, she was considering the situation still. She gives a quick glance over at Selyne. "While certainly a bar fight can be fun, they tend to be unpredictable. Things get out of hand. And despite what Arthur says about the Watch turning a blind eye, seems like they always show up just in time to misconstrue a situation." She takes another deep drink of her ale then sets the mug down on their table as she starts to stand.
"Xari, why don't you come with me?" she says firmly. Caragh then walks straight over to the two men that seem on the brink of an altercation. Once right next to them she softens her voice as she speaks to them. "Oh my, dear sirs. How is it that the two of you have come to covet the same mug of ale? I know the Mooring Knot has not run dry. But my associate here has a couple of drinks that should keep you from feeling your thirst." At this point she glances back to Xari, hoping he had remembered to bring the mugs he had mentioned earlier.
With a shy smile, she bats her eyes at the pair. "And two elegant gentlemen like yourselves could surely repay the favor by buying me a drink? And perhaps another for one of my two elven friends back there?" She gives a glance and a wave back towards Selyne and Alya, before turning her attention back towards the pair.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Caragh
(Caragh Persuasion: 8, w/HELP: 21)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Xari steps up behind Caragh readily, holding a second poured mug of ale along with his own (barely touched), setting them down in easy reach of both men. Uncharacteristically, he stands up straight, looming to nearly six and a half feet, and obviously wearing armor, though making no move towards the hafts of his maul or greatsword clearly poking out over his shoulder. His drawl is conversational and laconic, with no hint of a stutter.
"Aye, plenty of ale to go around in what looks a lot like a tavern to me. Turns out, I got couple tankards of it right here, free of charge for you two. So I'm thinking you've got two choices. Drink up and buy a couple mugs for my female friends here who are so easy on the eyes. Or..."
The big man tilts his head. Not unfriendly.
"Or you could decide to keep going as you are. Then I might feel the need to do something. And you might want to do something in return, as might he. So we'd all be doing things. And we'd all have a worse day, yeah? Just in general. Except the petite brunette one back there. She might like it."
(Xari's Help for Caragh's Influence action.)
Tanis (Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Barn (Paladin1): Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra (Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Joren (Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha (Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Quyen (Adept1, ba5ic system): ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord)
Xarian (Fighter3): Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map
Ayla keeps her eyes on the pair of drunken fools, only taking a moment to glance at Selyne and grin mischievously.
"Want to bet on who throws the first punch? A bottle of wine is on me if it isn't the rounder one," she says quietly to the other elf, as she returns her gaze on Caragh now.
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
"N-no, it's—nothing—like—that." The noble chokes out, each word punctuated by a stifled laugh as he wiggles in the chair trying to avoid Selyne's attempts to hit his ticklish spots. "There's no paintings and no secret lover." He finally huffs, scooting his chair back out of her reach. "It's just. Uh..." He trails off, wracking his brain for a viable excuse. Thankfully, he's saved by the action of Caragh and Xarian.
As they arrive next to the drunken merchants, Arthur grimaces faintly. "If I had to bet, I'd say the younger one..." He says sidelong to Ayla, eyes focused on the pair confronting the drunks. With a sigh, he takes another long draught from his own tankard and stands up. "You're probably going to get your brawl, Selyne."
21 Ches, 1501 DR — Waterdeep, Dock Ward
Xarian and Caragh
"You what?" The younger skinny one says, looking from the Xarian to Caragh with a momentarily look of confusion on their faces. Any other day, or even earlier today, the pair might have withered at the mere sight of Xarian's towering height. But they'd been filling themselves with liquid courage for the better part of the afternoon and evening. Drunk as they were, they still recognized a threat when they head it. Their confusion quickly melts into anger. "You might need to do something? I'll give you shomething to do!" The portly man roars, dropping the contested mug entirely and pulling back his fist.
The rest of the tavern erupts. The dockhands who had started to egg them on stand up immediately with grins on their faces, looking for their own trouble. Across the tavern's common room people hurry out of their seats, some to flee, but many to jump in on the fun. Some bare fists, others wield their tankards or pitchers. The two servers and the tavernkeeper (who has an exasperated but unsurprised look on his face), sink down to take cover behind the bar.
~ Roll initiative ~
Tavern Map
Xarian's Initiative: 18
Tanis (Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Barn (Paladin1): Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra (Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Joren (Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha (Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Quyen (Adept1, ba5ic system): ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord)
Xarian (Fighter3): Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map
Selyne leaps to her feet from her chair, pumping a fist in the air triumphantly. "BAR BRAAAWL!" | Initiative: 23
Arthur's Initiative: 21
(Caragh Initiative: 5)
Giving a slight shake of her head, Caragh is in disbelief that this besotted pair decide to escalate the situation with them. It takes her a moment to react.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Ayla rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically as she reaches for her staff.
Initiative: 11
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
Initiative: Selyne followed by Xarian.
Tavern Map (labeled enemies).
Selyne reaches across, taking Arthur's mostly empty tankard before hopping up on the table. "GET THEM XARI! INCOMING!" She yells over the chaos, throwing the tankard across the room at the head of the portly merchant{Ranged Improvised Weapon Attack: 22 to hit or 12 w/disadvantage | 6 Damage}.
After that she hops off the table to the side, ducking her head and pressing up against the nobleman's back. "Now hide me." She whispers frantically.