CHAPTER ONE

THE FALL OF AMBER

Boartusk tavern sat in the very heart of Dumbarton, it was not only the finest inn of Dumbarton but it also held the finest types of alcohol to ones you’d find in every tavern, but it was this that won its favour with the town’s folk and after a good couple of decades it managed to by out any other taverns that dare try to take its glory. Even going as far as establishing its own whiskey brewery where many flavours where concocted. To the north across the street from the tavern sat the armoury of settling vikings who not only made fire swords, battle axes, spears, shields and the kitchen sink but where also renowned iron workers. To the east down the street, sat the bank, brothel and general store, while to the west lay the emporium of mystic arts and the library of ancient; to the south sat the abbey and church that provided sanctuary to all those who lost or forgotten. The town of Dumbarton was well on its way to becoming a roaring city as especially as the Peltagrow royal family newly took over this land as their own, none would ever think that this land was cursed that in the far north of the town sat the Sanatorium of Hoping Prayers which was hidden away by the boarding woods that lined the town or to the far south the temple of Jupiter where many druids paid homage to their pagan gods. No on the surface of this land, all that glistened was gold but like every rose there was a thorn and it was this thorn that poisoned the land with darkness. So well dear traveller for you have arrived at Dumbarton and for whatever reason has brought you hear, i the narrator wish you luck. If you are of wisdom then it might be wised to swiftly gain favour with others and form a tight nit alliance. 

(free roaming rping from here, I will let you get settled and acquainted)

A human walks into the room and sets himself down in the chair in the farthest darkest corner and proceeds to tune what looks like a lute

The keen eyed might notice a face at the window; humanoid, whiskered and wild-eyed, and surely tall too since the windows of the taproom are high set. After the briefest moment, the face is gone, a smudge the only evidence that it was ever there.

A towering Goliath walks in with a greataxe strapped to his back. He takes a seat at the bar.

A figure clad in black enters the tavern.

The gloves of his outfit slightly reddened by what a sharp eye and nose might discern as fresh blood, with a few splashes here and there on his torso.

Unconcerned with the stares from some of the patrons, Chain casually makes his way to the bartender.

A halfling woman with two long braids of brown hair and dark blue eyes is already sitting at the table next to the one chosen by the fellow with the lute. She sips her cider and watches him with great interest. "Are you going to play something for us, then? It be a nice break from the general monotony and despair that seems to be soaked into the walls here."

Quote from Karmoli >>

A halfling woman with two long braids of brown hair and dark blue eyes is already sitting at the table next to the one chosen by the fellow with the lute. She sips her cider and watches him with great interest. "Are you going to play something for us, then? It be a nice break from the general monotony and despair that seems to be soaked into the walls here."

 The fellow looks up, " Perhaps, but then again perhaps not... "

" Maybe for some cider I can recite a little story? " The human grins at the halfling, a grin just wide enough to be friendly.

Sat next to the human is a large, whiskered and wild-eyed humanoid. In their distraction, neither the human nor the halfling could put their finger on exactly when he appeared there. The human in particular is a little startled.

"Me like stories", the creature says happily.

The human although startled starts reciting a story even though he didn't get that drink yet

" I believe a short story would fit well here. 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore! "

The human scoots a bit further from the creature, " What are you called strange thing? I am known as Mislaia. "

Seeing the blood soaked individual, I keep my eye trained on them. Not in a threatening manner, but one of curiosity.

In the background you hear a small band of dwarves play and sing jenny of oldstones, there is a towering ogre whose the bartender of the Boartusk and is busily filling tankers and goblets for all patrons, off in a corner there are a couple of tables of liars dice near a roaring fire place and the barmaid named Amber is busily creating the atmosphere as she gives polite chit chat and cracks jokes with patrons. Her hair is the colour of the first fall leaves and her eyes are as green as emeralds as she speaks softly in a rural southern Irish accent, that sounds a lot like the dialect of Dumbarton.

(interior of the tavern in the photo)

" Excuse me what can a guy do for fun around here? " Mislaia sets down the lute out of reach of the creature

Chain walks up to the bar, and throwing a quick glance around the area notices the Goliath looking at him. As he gets comfortable on his chair, he starts talking to noone in particular.

"I met some muggers a few miles back. They thought it was a good idea to rob me. It wasn't. The cretins barely had 10 gold between them. Not surprising, considering their remarkable lack of skill and common sense."

After he's done venting, Chain turns to the barkeep.

"Innkeeper, can I have a mug of ale and some grub? I'm rather famished. And where can I clean up?"

" Hey, Mr bloody and battered. Come over here and let us drink to whatever because I just feel like drinking. " Mislaia raises a glass

( Should I be using a text color? )

 
“That depends on what type of fun your looking for” Amber says lightly as she comes over to the bard with a small sly smile “there are game tables by the fireplace, wrestling matches in the basement, drinking matches and for 200gp you can hire a parting fancy for the night but that’s at the brothel down the street.” She tells the human, before sitting besides him “or we can have a conversation and you can tell me where you’ve come from and how you’ve become such a good storyteller, I’d love to know your name.” 

(yes please choose a text colour bc it’s easier to tell the difference with characters and also if the DM adds a NPC in this game, they’re normally linked in some shape or form to the plot, so feel free to interact if you’d like to learn more about the town and such)

Not being much for stories, Chain politely declines the invitation. ("Not interested.") and continues eating and drinking where he's sitting after casually taking off his bloodied gloves, revealing scarred and calloused hands.

Quote from BriennetheBarbarian >>

 
“That depends on what type of fun your looking for” Amber says lightly as she comes over to the bard with a small sly smile “there are game tables by the fireplace, wrestling matches in the basement, drinking matches and for 200gp you can hire a parting fancy for the night but that’s at the brothel down the street.” She tells the human, before sitting besides him “or we can have a conversation and you can tell me where you’ve come from and how you’ve become such a good storyteller, I’d love to know your name.” 

 Mislaia hops atop the and takes a bow " I am known as Mislaia, I am human for those that can't tell. And have come across a tome of great knowledge that gave me the power to retell almost any story. As for how I got here, I just decided that perhaps it looked like a fun place, but the blood and creatures say otherwise. " Mislaia hops back into the seat. " Now about those drinks, you wouldn't happen to have anymore Mead would you? "

I buy two mugs of ale a move down to sit beside the blooded man. I sit one in front of him and say, "Then to a fight well won, I'll drink to that."

(If grey is an acceptable color, I shall lay claim to it.)