Frozen Sick (2) BE7

Snow gently falls from the sky and wind bites your cheeks as you stand in the graveyard of Palebank Village, a fishing outpost of Uthodurn that is home to several hundred dwarves and elves. The sun is low in the sky, sinking behind the fresh grave of Urgon Wenth, an old dwarf who caught a curse or disease that turned him into an ice statue. The folk of the village have gathered to pay their final respects to Urgon’s frozen remains.

Earlier that afternoon....

All who travel to Palebank Village inevitably find their way to the Jolly Dwarf Inn.  Word of Arl Bortock's fish chowder and fried potatoes has spread far and wide, and you wouldn't dream of missing out on a chance to find out for yourself.  

At the edge of the snow-covered harbor stands a stout, timber-framed inn known throughout the village as The Jolly Dwarf. Its roof is heavy with fresh snow, and thick beams darkened by years of sea air support the low structure. A carved wooden sign hangs from iron chains over the door, showing a round-bellied dwarf laughing with a tankard raised high while a fish leaps beside him. The sign sways slowly in the winter wind, creaking softly.

Lantern light glows through frost-laced windows, casting warm gold onto the snow-packed street. Outside the entrance, several fishing sleds lean against a post, their ropes stiff with ice. The faint smell of smoked fish and woodfire drifts from the chimney’s steady plume of smoke.

Inside, warmth and noise greet anyone who steps through the door.

The common room is crowded with fishermen shaking snow from their coats and stamping their boots on the worn wooden floor. Thick nets hang from the rafters beside old oars, cracked buoys, and the skull of a massive sea creature mounted proudly over the hearth. The fire itself roars in a broad stone fireplace large enough to roast an entire seal, its heat filling the room with the comforting scent of burning pine.

Long wooden tables are packed with villagers drinking dark ale and bowls of steaming fish chowder. Dice clatter across one table while a group of sailors argue loudly about whose boat nearly tipped while breaking through harbor ice earlier that day.

Behind the bar stands the innkeeper—a once fiery red-bearded dwarf, now a dwarf with a rusty, gray streaked beard that would touch the ground were it not tucked into his wide belt behind a well worn apron, with laugh lines deep enough to show he earned the inn’s name honestly. He pours drinks with quick practiced movements, occasionally booming out a laugh that cuts through the room like a drumbeat.

In a corner near the fire, standing atop a small barrel that serves as a stage, a female elf bard plays a lute. Her cloak of deep blue wool is dusted with melted snowflakes, and a thin silver circlet rests in her pale hair. Her music dances lightly through the tavern—bright and playful, with hints of sea shanties that the fishermen recognize.

A few patrons hum along between drinks. One old sailor taps the rhythm on the table with a pipe stem. Even the innkeeper occasionally glances her way with a grin when she slips a clever verse about dwarves and strong ale into the melody.

Outside, the harbor groans under shifting winter ice and the wind bites hard enough to freeze a man’s beard solid. But inside The Jolly Dwarf, the fire burns hot, the ale flows freely, and the elf’s music carries laughter through the long winter night.

***OoC:  Enter Cato.  Unless you have something else in mind @emjats, you could kick start it off on stage!  Where else would a bard want to be?  If you are just playing for room and board, no worries.  If you are trying to make coin, we will need to kick things off with a performance check!***

I, the elf bard Tori, stand atop the pseudo stage swaying back and forth slowly as I sing a folksy and bright, melodic song. I am simply playing for room and board at the moment. I am staying at the inn and working on my latest set of original songs by day. it is a lyrically observational group of songs about my time in the town with a folksy twang, catchy melodies and rhymes that stick with you. Sometimes I even come up with something wise. At night I play in the tavern to pay for my time here and workshop my songs. I skillfully play my lute and sing softly- 

"in all the raging storms 

and all the winters long

a dwarf will always find his warmth 

in his mug of grog"

Cato enters the tavern casually, he confidently strides, and his practiced soldier's eyes scan the room carefully. He takes note of possible exits and entrances and analyzes the patrons of the tavern to determine possible threats. He walks slowly to the bar to acquire ale and the famed fish chowder. Seeing that the barkeep is busy, Cato waves his hand to catch the dwarf's attention. "I would like an ale and fish chowder, sir." The dwarf gave a brief nod and supplies the ordered items and hurries off as Cato indicates to keep the tab open. Cato then locates a suitable empty table to enjoy his chowdah from the corner of the room.

***OOC Cato appears to be an out-of-work mercenary type with short gray hair cut like a soldier. His chainmail is well worn but maintained. His demeanor is wary but not entirely unfriendly.***

***OoC:  please indicate out of character stuff when posting in the IC thread.  We have an OoC group message thing for general above table talk.  I'll give you guys a sample post so you have an idea of how to structure your replies.

Aunt Rose opened the door to the Jolly Dwarf.  The warmth greeted her rosy cheeks at the same time a gust of wind blew the door out of her hand, sending it slamming into the wall.  A fisherman jumped out of his chair, send his table wobbling and his dwarven friend diving across it all to save the ale.  A server shrieked, dropping a tray of empty mugs.  The sound of shattering crockery added to the chaos.  "Oh my!  Dear, oh dear, so sorry lasses and ladies," she mumbled to the room as she fought a battle with her cloak, which the wind seemed to be playing a game with.  When she finally got ahold of the door and closed it, she was a disheveled mess.  She was about half way through sorting out her fabric prison, looking borderline presentable with head scarf tied back into place when the door opened up again.  Her cloak and hair immediately took to their old tricks.  "To the hells with it all then," she turned, summoning what dignity she had left, and marched straight to the bar for an ale.

The older gnome woman had a warm, welcoming smile.  Her attire was functional, and well worn from the road.  She walked with a staff, decorated with mistletoe and intricate carvings of various plants, gray of hair perhaps, but young in spirit.  At present her cheeks were flush with embarrassment and wind burn.

***OoC: Aunt Rose will order an ale, listen to the conversation around her for any interesting information, and just kinda take it all in.  Perception check : 12 (I rolled this in the character sheet in the app)***  

***OoC : You guys are now free to post, interact with the bartender, patrons, Aunt Rose, etc.  This is the introduce your character bit :) Your posts can be as short or long as you like.  Certain scenes and things lend themselves to wordy replies, some don't. Play your characted IC and above table in messages - starting now!  :) ***

Arl Bortock returned to Cato promptly, a heavy mug of dark, amber ale in his hand.  "Food'll be out in a bit.  Sit anywhere what suits ye," Arl says.  As you turn to find a table, the door flies open, somehow blowing in an older female forest gnome.  If she and the wind had been fighting, it is clear that the wind won.  She manages to work her way to the stool next to you, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.  Despite her current state, she manages to offer Cato a friendly smile.  When Arl attends to her, she asks for a room for the night and also orders the ale and chowder.  She glances around, perhaps feeling a bit out of place.  She quickly looks to the bard, focusing in on the music instead of the large crowd of strangers. 

The place seems to be very busy, Arl and his serving staff are constantly on the go, filling mugs with rich amber ale and bowls with steaming hot chowder.  

Cato sees several empty tables, two near the door and one that just opened up near the make-shift stage. 

Some of the locals are really getting into the bard's song.  When she repeats the chorus, the tavern erupts in deep dwarven voices, all singing out together, "A dwarf will always find his warmth, in a mug of grog!"  As the song comes to an end, several of them walk over and drop silver into an upside down hat next to the "stage".