It's your third night in Greenest, having successfully delivered Bartholomew Fairweather, his belongings, and his family to the quaint town without a hitch a few days ago. Bartholomew is a self-made merchant who recently achieved success, amassing enough of a fortune to leave his company in the care of someone else while he retired somewhere quieter with his family. After spending two months with him, it was pretty easy to see how he found his success. In conversations with him, you would have found the middle-aged man to have a sharp wit and charismatic charm. Despite his newfound wealth, he seemed to remain down-to-earth, valuing a peaceful life and devotion to his family. It was obvious from the start that he cared deeply for his wife Clarissa, and his two children Amelia and Samuel. He would say many times over the trip that this move to Greenest came from his desire to provide them with a serene environment to enjoy.
The merchant was very friendly, and could be a little eccentric. On the first night of your arrival in Greenest, he hosted a masque at his new family manor. While your party politely declined the offer, you heard that quite a few townsfolk end up going.
Tonight is your final night in Greenest, now that you're all rested up and ready for the return journey to Waterdeep. Your party is gathered at the Dragon's Roost, a rather cozy tavern situated in the heart of the town. The two-story building is made of timber with a thatched roof. Wooden carvings of dragons adorn the exterior of the establishment, in theme with its name. The interior is lit with warm lighting from flickering lanterns, as it isn't quite cool enough yet to warrant use of the fireplace. Wooden tables and benches fill the first floor's common area, and a decent crowd has gathered tonight. You've been staying in the rooms on the second floor, the cost of which was covered by the Silver Veil already.
You sit around a table near the front entrance of the tavern. One of the innkeepers, a half-elf by the name of Eliza has just dropped off your drinks and meals. Nearby, you can hear bits of pieces of a halfling's tale as she weaves a story of dragons and heroes for a group of the town's younger children.
Please take the opportunity to 'introduce' your characters, and roleplay a bit with each other or the environment. The story is yours now! (=
Irisviel offers a small smile to Eliza as she puts down their drinks and food, "thank you." Grabbing first the mug of ale, she brings it to her lips and takes a long drink. The young half-elven woman is out of her traveling clothes tonight, instead wearing one of the dresses she packed from home. It's a simple garment dyed a deep midnight blue, though it still has the elegance of tailoring. A silver sash is tied around her waist, matching the silver threaded trim of the dress. Over that she wears a belt that holds a few component pouches and a small dagger.
As she sets the mug down, she moves her plate to the side a little bit, not feeling terribly hungry at the moment. She props her elbow up on the table, resting her cheek in her hand. The tavern's atmosphere was relaxing to her, in truth this town in general was. There were enough people around to never feel lonely, but it wasn't as crowded as some of the cities. "After the last few days, I can see why Bartholomew decided to bring his family here. I almost wish we could stay a little longer." She says aloud absent mindedly. "It seems a lovely place to call home."
"A lovely place," echoes Crannoc faintly, thanking Eliza with a nod and taking a sip of ale. A small one, recalling with a grimace what just a single tankard's worth of the drink had done to his head the previous night. And the morning after. The taste is pleasant enough, though, as is the company here.
The sycamore seedpod on his shoulder floats up and around his head in a wobbly circle before settling back down once more. His deep brown eyes remain restless like those of a deer. Not unfriendly, but unequivocally in strange territory and always watching for a threat. His garb seems well-cared for, but fit together from vine and bark, leaves and sinew rather than ordinary fabric. Yet it hangs on his slight frame as if well-tailored, leaving his movement unhindered, doubling as his armor. A small wooden shield hangs at his back, while his weapons seem limited to a sling and two compact knives.
"I admit I prefer this big city of Greenest to the even bigger city of Waterdeep." He shudders involuntarily, not frightened exactly, but... unsettled? Repulsed? To Crannoc, everything larger than the tiniest hamlet is a "big city," so it is difficult to tell. He continues as if nothing had happened.
"I have noticed that dragons seem commonplace in the lore here. Is that so in other... cities? We sit in the Dragon's Roost tavern, with wooden carvings of dragons along the outside. The halfling there tells the cubs stories of dragons. I have heard the wood elves of my mother's tribe in the Misty Forest tell of a huge Green Dragon that once laired in the deepest forest. But that tale is a harrowing one, full of loss and despair, and not for the little ones."
A young man sitting next to the half-elf lets out a yawn as the food and drinks arrive, quickly cover his mouth with a fist. Opposite the reaction from Irisviel, he pushes aside the drink and heads straight for the food. The ale would only make him more sleepy - he needed protein. "Thanks." He says, echoing his fellow.
Gawain's glaive and armor were left upstairs tonight, giving his shoulders some much needed rest. He wears a simple tan tunic and black trousers, with a pair of daggers hanging from his belt. His long bright orange hair is pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes.
He swallows the food he'd been digging into, taking a moment to join the conversation. "Yeah it seems pretty peaceful. Seems like a nice inbetween of big city and small village."He thinks for a moment, then adds. "No reason we couldn't actually just stay a few more days. So long as we don't go missing for a month longer than expected we should be alright."
"And if we do get reprimanded, just tell them it's my fault eh? I forced you all to stay so I could enjoy an actual bed for a while longer." He laughs, perhaps only half-joking.
With the mention of the draconic themes around them, he can only offer a shrug. "It's exciting to some people I suppose. I don't think we ever really talked about them much at home. But that was more of a village...Tales of adventure weren't exactly common there."
“Dragons? Meh. Would that there were! By the looks of this town, it hasn’t been troubled by a donkey, much less by a dragon, in living memory.”
Hildr can no longer conceal her restlessness. "Three idle days stacked on two uneventful months. What kind of 'work' is this anyway? Gettin’ soft." She too pushes the ale aside. "With all this lazing, goes straight to the belly." She can never get enough chow though. She slops it up.
She eats as she drinks—and does everything else: standing. Towering, rather, and in a borderline belligerent posture, even when she doesn't need to be. Shield on her back, sword at her waste, Hildr is ever at the ready.
“Yeah,” she adds, her mouth full of food, apparently addressing Irisviel, “I can see why Fairweather brought his kin here. He’s a rich man—and certainly generous with his money. But I would die of boredom. I am dying of boredom.”
"Ah, what the hells." Hildr changes her mind. She seizes her mug and, holding it aloft, declares: “Skol! To ale! To moneybags! To dragons!”
A few nearby patrons of the tavern hear the large woman's toast and raise their own ales. "To ale! To moneybags! to dragons!" The process repeats itself a few times, and it isn't too long before it seems like the entire place is cheering. "To ale! To moneybags! to dragons!"
The entire Dragon's Roost goes silent then, and it takes a few moments for you all to realize the patrons are staring at the door. Standing in the doorway is a tall brown haired human with a goatee, he looks to be about in his 60s and wears a blue tunic. You might recognize him as the leader of Greenest, Governor Nighthill. He pauses at the threshold for but a moment, then with a smile says, "To ale, to moneybags, to dragons." The tavern erupts into a cheer, laughter, and convesration as the governor moves inside, heading towards the bartop to speak with one of the innkeepers.
"I may take you up on that offer," Iris replies, allowing a light a chuckle.
Her gaze moves to the woman towering above their table. Hildr was...An interesting character. While she didn't share her restlessness, the sorceress could understand it. She raises her mug, joining the toast as the rest of the Dragon's Roost erupts. After the tavern quiets down from its excitement induced by Hildr's impromptu toast and the governor's arrival, she responds.
"I think we need to try finding you a nice hobby that you can take anywhere with you. Have you ever tried wood carving?"
"I may take you up on that offer," Iris replies, allowing a light a chuckle.
Her gaze moves to the woman towering above their table. Hildr was...An interesting character. While she didn't share her restlessness, the sorceress could understand it. She raises her mug, joining the toast as the rest of the Dragon's Roost erupts. After the tavern quiets down from its excitement induced by Hildr's impromptu toast and the governor's arrival, she responds.
"I think we need to try finding you a nice hobby that you can take anywhere with you. Have you ever tried wood carving?"
Amidst banging her mug on the table while hopping in place and chanting along with the other patrons as they echo her triple toasts, Hildr suddenly stops and looks at Iris, "Who, me?" She looks abashed, "I'm no woodworker, no. I'm surprised that you asked. But I can sure throw an axe, and I've cut a nithing pole or two." She pauses to reflect, “Is it fun?”
Gallant jumps onto a nearby table and yells, "That's it Hildr, being the life of the party as usual, and Iris over there with that quick wit of yours! Now everyone if you want to hear a truly exciting tell come around let me tell you how 5 heroic adventures the man with the Golden Heart as he went to the land of Green Fields."
Gallant is hard to miss with his azure blue hair which is curly and always seems to have a light breeze flowing through it. His athletic build at 6'5" and his cocoa-brown skin is adorned with slightly worn leather to give some protection from unseen attacks. Gallant has a small dagger strapped across his chest, a rapier with a small blue stone on the hilt on his waist, and a lute slung around his back. He has piercing blue eyes that seem to change with his mood. Gallant has slightly sharp ears but not to the extent as Iris or Crannoc.
Performance or Persuasion check: 22 (rolled in the character sheet since we can all see that roll)
A mental image of the warrior-woman delicately holding a small knife to carve a totem comes to his mind, and Gawain brings his drink to his lips to hide his chuckling. He heartedly joins the chanting when the tavern picks up Hildr's toast, setting the mug down and going back to his food as the tavern sort of calms down after. He watches Nighthill move through the tavern, wondering to himself what could bring the governor here tonight. Was it just to join the townsfolk in their fun?
His thoughts are interrupted as Gallant hops onto a table, eager to tell a tale of his own to the patrons of the Dragon's Roost. "Well...I guess the last night should be more exciting." He comments, grinning as he takes another drink of ale.
"It can be." Iris says in reply to Hildr's question, amused that she seemed to be interested in the idea at least. "Back in Silverymoon I knew someone that could have a new carving finished every fortnight. They'd been doing it for years though. Always said it was just a way to keep their hands busy."
"One carving? Just one carving?" Hildr's eyes widen in mock disbelief. "In a fortnight? How much gold did it bring? What god did it please? And could hands like these," she holds out her enormous paws, fingers up, palms forward, "manage such delicate work?" (Privately, although she would be loath to admit it, Hildr appreciates that such a carving must be a thing of beauty with intrinsic value—and a wonder to behold.) "Here's what I do with my hands to keep busy..." As she prepares to play pinfinger, but with a handaxe instead of a knife, the bard jumps on the table.
Crannoc shakes his head slightly at the ways of city-folk, but can't help smiling fondly at his new... friends? Pack-mates? He starts to take another sip of ale but pauses, remembering the headache from this morning. Instead, he gazes over his mug at Iris and Hildr speaking of wood carving and Hildr's loud toast and eagerness for dangerous games with metal. Could there be two females more different? It takes all kinds to form a pack.
He joins in the chant, bemused. Ale and... money? And dragons? The true theme is companionship, as with my old friends , the wolves, joining together in the singing, when the hunt was good and the moon is full, voices carrying through the still air of the warm and beckoning summer night...
The strength and vividness of Crannoc's memories take his breath away for a moment. He sits mute, remembering, his reverie cut short by the flamboyant air genasi jumping onto the table to tell his tales, lute in hand. "Exciting indeed," Crannoc murmurs back to Gawain as he looks around. "Cities always seemed dull to me from the outside, but now I see that they are not always so."
When the pack leader, "governor" Nighthill, enters Crannoc's ears perk up. Fruitlessly, since he cannot hear anything over the entire tavern chanting. Yet, he nevertheless tries to read the body language of the pack leader, and the innkeeper with whom he is speaking. Reaching out to Silvanus' wild guidance to help him see clearly among strangers. Is it a simple friendly greeting, ordinary conversation among leaders, or something more unusual and dangerous?
CrannocInsight plus Guidance: 17 + 4 = 21 (rolled in campaign log)
A small crowd gathers around Gallant as he weaves his story of The Man with the Golden Heart, with more and more coming over as the tale continues. As this is happening, Governor Nighthill continues his conversation the innkeeper Eliza. As Crannoc watches, he gets this feeling that this is almost like a business transaction. It's serious, but by the governor's body language and what you can see of his facial expressions, it doesn't seem like a grave matter. You see Nighthill leave a coin pouch on the counter before he turns, now approaching your group.
He waits patiently for the bard to finish his tale, which those gathered around cheer and clap for as Gallant reaches the end. While they begin to disperse back to their own tables, the governor walks up to yours. You notice he's clutching a rolled up piece of parchment in his hands. "Evening friends. I hope you're enjoying all our little town has to offer?" He says with a warm smile.
""Do you mind if we chat for a bit? I've got some news from your patron in Waterdeep." He says, waving the parchment in his hand.
Gallant will put a tankard out to collect coin if anyone feels willing and able. He will then bow and look to the governor with a surprisingly serious face, “Are you here to sing our praise, or are we talking business?”
Gawain casts a look at his companions before nodding. "Sure, think we've got some free time."He says, briefly moving from his seat to grab an extra chair for the governor."You said you've news from Waterdeep? is everything alright?"
Nighthill takes the seat graciously, pulling the chair up to the table and sitting down. He puts the scroll before you all, smiling. "That's a letter from your patron Dornan. A fine fellow indeed." He takes a look around the tavern as his smile fades somewhat. "Greenest is a wonderful town to preside over, very peaceful for the most part. It's been appealing to quite a few folks, which leads me to our problem..."
"Our little town is growing fast, which hasn't gone unnoticed by those with...less than savory intentions. Somewhat embarrassingly, we've outgrown our ability to protect ourselves. Escobert is working on training a new batch of guards, but that takes time to do properly. And we have problems that need immediate attention."
He leans forward now, propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers. "And that's where you come in. We've been negotiating with the Silver Veil for some time to hire a semi-regular force to handle some criminal elements that have cropped up in the Greenfields. That letter was the final say in the matter." He chuckles, "honestly it's quite fortunate that you were on a job that was bringing you here already."
"I've just settled your rooms for the next month with Eliza - as part of the payment to the Silver Veil. You'll be paid a weekly stipend while you're here as well. Dornan assures me that your payment for the Fairweather job is on the way, which we'll be able to advance to you. So in the morning instead of leaving, you can come by the keep to see me again. You'll receive your coin, and we can talk more about the job you'll be doing."
Crannoc almost volunteers an observation to Nighthill about the happy coincidence of staying in Greenest when Iris and Gawain were already considering doing so against Dornan's wishes. But at the last moment, it occurs to him that he ought to let them speak for themselves. He suspects pummeling "criminal elements" might begin to quench Hildr's restlessness (tough probably not much) and provide Gallant fodder for songs and poems. And yet...
Is this really why I felt compelled to leave the Misty Forest and journey south. On a sense like a scent in the wind of something amiss. Some distant and abiding danger. Is it truly just bandits and highwaymen preying on cities grown too large for their own guards?
Crannoc gazes at Nighthill, eyes almost meeting his but slightly lowered to show respect, as due a pack leader from a visitor to their territory. He supposes that the bag of coins passed to the innkeeper was to "settle" their rooms as described, though Crannoc has never heard that verb used in such a way. For that matter, he supposes he should pay more attention to the payments being promised to the group, but...
"Thank you, pack lea- ah..., governor, for trusting us to share in your hunt and allowing us to shelter in your territory. Can you tell us more of our quarry? What are these 'criminal elements'?"
It's your third night in Greenest, having successfully delivered Bartholomew Fairweather, his belongings, and his family to the quaint town without a hitch a few days ago. Bartholomew is a self-made merchant who recently achieved success, amassing enough of a fortune to leave his company in the care of someone else while he retired somewhere quieter with his family. After spending two months with him, it was pretty easy to see how he found his success. In conversations with him, you would have found the middle-aged man to have a sharp wit and charismatic charm. Despite his newfound wealth, he seemed to remain down-to-earth, valuing a peaceful life and devotion to his family. It was obvious from the start that he cared deeply for his wife Clarissa, and his two children Amelia and Samuel. He would say many times over the trip that this move to Greenest came from his desire to provide them with a serene environment to enjoy.
The merchant was very friendly, and could be a little eccentric. On the first night of your arrival in Greenest, he hosted a masque at his new family manor. While your party politely declined the offer, you heard that quite a few townsfolk end up going.
Tonight is your final night in Greenest, now that you're all rested up and ready for the return journey to Waterdeep. Your party is gathered at the Dragon's Roost, a rather cozy tavern situated in the heart of the town. The two-story building is made of timber with a thatched roof. Wooden carvings of dragons adorn the exterior of the establishment, in theme with its name. The interior is lit with warm lighting from flickering lanterns, as it isn't quite cool enough yet to warrant use of the fireplace. Wooden tables and benches fill the first floor's common area, and a decent crowd has gathered tonight. You've been staying in the rooms on the second floor, the cost of which was covered by the Silver Veil already.
You sit around a table near the front entrance of the tavern. One of the innkeepers, a half-elf by the name of Eliza has just dropped off your drinks and meals. Nearby, you can hear bits of pieces of a halfling's tale as she weaves a story of dragons and heroes for a group of the town's younger children.
Please take the opportunity to 'introduce' your characters, and roleplay a bit with each other or the environment. The story is yours now! (=
Irisviel offers a small smile to Eliza as she puts down their drinks and food, "thank you." Grabbing first the mug of ale, she brings it to her lips and takes a long drink. The young half-elven woman is out of her traveling clothes tonight, instead wearing one of the dresses she packed from home. It's a simple garment dyed a deep midnight blue, though it still has the elegance of tailoring. A silver sash is tied around her waist, matching the silver threaded trim of the dress. Over that she wears a belt that holds a few component pouches and a small dagger.
As she sets the mug down, she moves her plate to the side a little bit, not feeling terribly hungry at the moment. She props her elbow up on the table, resting her cheek in her hand. The tavern's atmosphere was relaxing to her, in truth this town in general was. There were enough people around to never feel lonely, but it wasn't as crowded as some of the cities. "After the last few days, I can see why Bartholomew decided to bring his family here. I almost wish we could stay a little longer." She says aloud absent mindedly. "It seems a lovely place to call home."
"A lovely place," echoes Crannoc faintly, thanking Eliza with a nod and taking a sip of ale. A small one, recalling with a grimace what just a single tankard's worth of the drink had done to his head the previous night. And the morning after. The taste is pleasant enough, though, as is the company here.
The sycamore seedpod on his shoulder floats up and around his head in a wobbly circle before settling back down once more. His deep brown eyes remain restless like those of a deer. Not unfriendly, but unequivocally in strange territory and always watching for a threat. His garb seems well-cared for, but fit together from vine and bark, leaves and sinew rather than ordinary fabric. Yet it hangs on his slight frame as if well-tailored, leaving his movement unhindered, doubling as his armor. A small wooden shield hangs at his back, while his weapons seem limited to a sling and two compact knives.
"I admit I prefer this big city of Greenest to the even bigger city of Waterdeep." He shudders involuntarily, not frightened exactly, but... unsettled? Repulsed? To Crannoc, everything larger than the tiniest hamlet is a "big city," so it is difficult to tell. He continues as if nothing had happened.
"I have noticed that dragons seem commonplace in the lore here. Is that so in other... cities? We sit in the Dragon's Roost tavern, with wooden carvings of dragons along the outside. The halfling there tells the cubs stories of dragons. I have heard the wood elves of my mother's tribe in the Misty Forest tell of a huge Green Dragon that once laired in the deepest forest. But that tale is a harrowing one, full of loss and despair, and not for the little ones."
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
A young man sitting next to the half-elf lets out a yawn as the food and drinks arrive, quickly cover his mouth with a fist. Opposite the reaction from Irisviel, he pushes aside the drink and heads straight for the food. The ale would only make him more sleepy - he needed protein. "Thanks." He says, echoing his fellow.
Gawain's glaive and armor were left upstairs tonight, giving his shoulders some much needed rest. He wears a simple tan tunic and black trousers, with a pair of daggers hanging from his belt. His long bright orange hair is pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes.
He swallows the food he'd been digging into, taking a moment to join the conversation. "Yeah it seems pretty peaceful. Seems like a nice inbetween of big city and small village." He thinks for a moment, then adds. "No reason we couldn't actually just stay a few more days. So long as we don't go missing for a month longer than expected we should be alright."
"And if we do get reprimanded, just tell them it's my fault eh? I forced you all to stay so I could enjoy an actual bed for a while longer." He laughs, perhaps only half-joking.
With the mention of the draconic themes around them, he can only offer a shrug. "It's exciting to some people I suppose. I don't think we ever really talked about them much at home. But that was more of a village...Tales of adventure weren't exactly common there."
“Dragons? Meh. Would that there were! By the looks of this town, it hasn’t been troubled by a donkey, much less by a dragon, in living memory.”
Hildr can no longer conceal her restlessness. "Three idle days stacked on two uneventful months. What kind of 'work' is this anyway? Gettin’ soft." She too pushes the ale aside. "With all this lazing, goes straight to the belly." She can never get enough chow though. She slops it up.
She eats as she drinks—and does everything else: standing. Towering, rather, and in a borderline belligerent posture, even when she doesn't need to be. Shield on her back, sword at her waste, Hildr is ever at the ready.
“Yeah,” she adds, her mouth full of food, apparently addressing Irisviel, “I can see why Fairweather brought his kin here. He’s a rich man—and certainly generous with his money. But I would die of boredom. I am dying of boredom.”
"Ah, what the hells." Hildr changes her mind. She seizes her mug and, holding it aloft, declares: “Skol! To ale! To moneybags! To dragons!”
A few nearby patrons of the tavern hear the large woman's toast and raise their own ales. "To ale! To moneybags! to dragons!" The process repeats itself a few times, and it isn't too long before it seems like the entire place is cheering. "To ale! To moneybags! to dragons!"
The entire Dragon's Roost goes silent then, and it takes a few moments for you all to realize the patrons are staring at the door. Standing in the doorway is a tall brown haired human with a goatee, he looks to be about in his 60s and wears a blue tunic. You might recognize him as the leader of Greenest, Governor Nighthill. He pauses at the threshold for but a moment, then with a smile says, "To ale, to moneybags, to dragons." The tavern erupts into a cheer, laughter, and convesration as the governor moves inside, heading towards the bartop to speak with one of the innkeepers.
"I may take you up on that offer," Iris replies, allowing a light a chuckle.
Her gaze moves to the woman towering above their table. Hildr was...An interesting character. While she didn't share her restlessness, the sorceress could understand it. She raises her mug, joining the toast as the rest of the Dragon's Roost erupts. After the tavern quiets down from its excitement induced by Hildr's impromptu toast and the governor's arrival, she responds.
"I think we need to try finding you a nice hobby that you can take anywhere with you. Have you ever tried wood carving?"
Amidst banging her mug on the table while hopping in place and chanting along with the other patrons as they echo her triple toasts, Hildr suddenly stops and looks at Iris, "Who, me?" She looks abashed, "I'm no woodworker, no. I'm surprised that you asked. But I can sure throw an axe, and I've cut a nithing pole or two." She pauses to reflect, “Is it fun?”
Gallant jumps onto a nearby table and yells, "That's it Hildr, being the life of the party as usual, and Iris over there with that quick wit of yours! Now everyone if you want to hear a truly exciting tell come around let me tell you how 5 heroic adventures the man with the Golden Heart as he went to the land of Green Fields."
Gallant is hard to miss with his azure blue hair which is curly and always seems to have a light breeze flowing through it. His athletic build at 6'5" and his cocoa-brown skin is adorned with slightly worn leather to give some protection from unseen attacks. Gallant has a small dagger strapped across his chest, a rapier with a small blue stone on the hilt on his waist, and a lute slung around his back. He has piercing blue eyes that seem to change with his mood. Gallant has slightly sharp ears but not to the extent as Iris or Crannoc.
Performance or Persuasion check: 22 (rolled in the character sheet since we can all see that roll)
A mental image of the warrior-woman delicately holding a small knife to carve a totem comes to his mind, and Gawain brings his drink to his lips to hide his chuckling. He heartedly joins the chanting when the tavern picks up Hildr's toast, setting the mug down and going back to his food as the tavern sort of calms down after. He watches Nighthill move through the tavern, wondering to himself what could bring the governor here tonight. Was it just to join the townsfolk in their fun?
His thoughts are interrupted as Gallant hops onto a table, eager to tell a tale of his own to the patrons of the Dragon's Roost. "Well...I guess the last night should be more exciting." He comments, grinning as he takes another drink of ale.
"It can be." Iris says in reply to Hildr's question, amused that she seemed to be interested in the idea at least. "Back in Silverymoon I knew someone that could have a new carving finished every fortnight. They'd been doing it for years though. Always said it was just a way to keep their hands busy."
((I see no roll in the Game Log, are you sure you sent it to everyone?))
A few nearby onlookers give hearty cheers as Gallant leaps onto a table, promising another tale for the tavern.
"One carving? Just one carving?" Hildr's eyes widen in mock disbelief. "In a fortnight? How much gold did it bring? What god did it please? And could hands like these," she holds out her enormous paws, fingers up, palms forward, "manage such delicate work?" (Privately, although she would be loath to admit it, Hildr appreciates that such a carving must be a thing of beauty with intrinsic value—and a wonder to behold.) "Here's what I do with my hands to keep busy..." As she prepares to play pinfinger, but with a handaxe instead of a knife, the bard jumps on the table.
Crannoc shakes his head slightly at the ways of city-folk, but can't help smiling fondly at his new... friends? Pack-mates? He starts to take another sip of ale but pauses, remembering the headache from this morning. Instead, he gazes over his mug at Iris and Hildr speaking of wood carving and Hildr's loud toast and eagerness for dangerous games with metal. Could there be two females more different? It takes all kinds to form a pack.
He joins in the chant, bemused. Ale and... money? And dragons? The true theme is companionship, as with my old friends , the wolves, joining together in the singing, when the hunt was good and the moon is full, voices carrying through the still air of the warm and beckoning summer night...
The strength and vividness of Crannoc's memories take his breath away for a moment. He sits mute, remembering, his reverie cut short by the flamboyant air genasi jumping onto the table to tell his tales, lute in hand. "Exciting indeed," Crannoc murmurs back to Gawain as he looks around. "Cities always seemed dull to me from the outside, but now I see that they are not always so."
When the pack leader, "governor" Nighthill, enters Crannoc's ears perk up. Fruitlessly, since he cannot hear anything over the entire tavern chanting. Yet, he nevertheless tries to read the body language of the pack leader, and the innkeeper with whom he is speaking. Reaching out to Silvanus' wild guidance to help him see clearly among strangers. Is it a simple friendly greeting, ordinary conversation among leaders, or something more unusual and dangerous?
Crannoc Insight plus Guidance: 17 + 4 = 21 (rolled in campaign log)
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Hey rolled in my character sheet did y’all not see that in the campaign game roll?
A small crowd gathers around Gallant as he weaves his story of The Man with the Golden Heart, with more and more coming over as the tale continues. As this is happening, Governor Nighthill continues his conversation the innkeeper Eliza. As Crannoc watches, he gets this feeling that this is almost like a business transaction. It's serious, but by the governor's body language and what you can see of his facial expressions, it doesn't seem like a grave matter. You see Nighthill leave a coin pouch on the counter before he turns, now approaching your group.
He waits patiently for the bard to finish his tale, which those gathered around cheer and clap for as Gallant reaches the end. While they begin to disperse back to their own tables, the governor walks up to yours. You notice he's clutching a rolled up piece of parchment in his hands. "Evening friends. I hope you're enjoying all our little town has to offer?" He says with a warm smile.
""Do you mind if we chat for a bit? I've got some news from your patron in Waterdeep." He says, waving the parchment in his hand.
Gallant will put a tankard out to collect coin if anyone feels willing and able. He will then bow and look to the governor with a surprisingly serious face, “Are you here to sing our praise, or are we talking business?”
Gawain casts a look at his companions before nodding. "Sure, think we've got some free time." He says, briefly moving from his seat to grab an extra chair for the governor. "You said you've news from Waterdeep? is everything alright?"
Nighthill takes the seat graciously, pulling the chair up to the table and sitting down. He puts the scroll before you all, smiling. "That's a letter from your patron Dornan. A fine fellow indeed." He takes a look around the tavern as his smile fades somewhat. "Greenest is a wonderful town to preside over, very peaceful for the most part. It's been appealing to quite a few folks, which leads me to our problem..."
"Our little town is growing fast, which hasn't gone unnoticed by those with...less than savory intentions. Somewhat embarrassingly, we've outgrown our ability to protect ourselves. Escobert is working on training a new batch of guards, but that takes time to do properly. And we have problems that need immediate attention."
He leans forward now, propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers. "And that's where you come in. We've been negotiating with the Silver Veil for some time to hire a semi-regular force to handle some criminal elements that have cropped up in the Greenfields. That letter was the final say in the matter." He chuckles, "honestly it's quite fortunate that you were on a job that was bringing you here already."
"I've just settled your rooms for the next month with Eliza - as part of the payment to the Silver Veil. You'll be paid a weekly stipend while you're here as well. Dornan assures me that your payment for the Fairweather job is on the way, which we'll be able to advance to you. So in the morning instead of leaving, you can come by the keep to see me again. You'll receive your coin, and we can talk more about the job you'll be doing."
Crannoc almost volunteers an observation to Nighthill about the happy coincidence of staying in Greenest when Iris and Gawain were already considering doing so against Dornan's wishes. But at the last moment, it occurs to him that he ought to let them speak for themselves. He suspects pummeling "criminal elements" might begin to quench Hildr's restlessness (tough probably not much) and provide Gallant fodder for songs and poems. And yet...
Is this really why I felt compelled to leave the Misty Forest and journey south. On a sense like a scent in the wind of something amiss. Some distant and abiding danger. Is it truly just bandits and highwaymen preying on cities grown too large for their own guards?
Crannoc gazes at Nighthill, eyes almost meeting his but slightly lowered to show respect, as due a pack leader from a visitor to their territory. He supposes that the bag of coins passed to the innkeeper was to "settle" their rooms as described, though Crannoc has never heard that verb used in such a way. For that matter, he supposes he should pay more attention to the payments being promised to the group, but...
"Thank you, pack lea- ah..., governor, for trusting us to share in your hunt and allowing us to shelter in your territory. Can you tell us more of our quarry? What are these 'criminal elements'?"
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk