Commoners! (IC)

[Gorgondantess]

You've spent the past few months in hell.
Sure, you've proven to your superiors that your lives are worth more than the clothes they inhabit, unlike your compatriots. You were taken from the front lines, for a more prestigious position. But at least they could give you some decent furs. The past few weeks you've been going through a forced march north, and every day was colder than the last. Now, standing against the bitter cold just south of the mountains of White Crag, the ancestral home of the elves, you wonder if your fingers will survive the night.
Standing, you watch the battle that is about to come- masses upon writhing masses of conscript armies, tens of thousand, all piecemeal, marching towards the fortifications set out at the base of the mountain. Your job is to light the tower of wood and oil behind you for when the elves move out to engage, so the knights can come in for a flanking position. Until then, any warming fires are forbidden. You pray the moment comes soon, so you can bask in its warmth.

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And we've started, on a lighter note. I'd like all of you to post with a character description n'sech, and chatting amongst yourselves is highly encouraged.

[Rutskarn]

A man squats by his tent, convulsing in private misery, cursing and muttering darkly. He looks like a carnival barker fallen on hard times, his too-thin mustache overgrown with roughness and stubble, his hair cut roughly (as if accustomed to being hidden under a hat).

His shaking fingers shuffle a deck of cards, half idly, half invitingly.

[Helinon]

A tall half-elf, in a suit of armor most recruits lacked, walks around and does other physical tasks in order to keep himself warm. After about ten minutes he sits down and covers himself in his heavy blanket, thankful for his preparedness. He sits for around 20 minutes before repeating the process again. He looks around for the others who were with him and analyzes them. Those who look closely at him notice that he looks like he has experience in fighting, and has a standard military cut. They also see that he is muscular, which is an odd trait for an elf. His gear is set aside near his bedroll, but he keeps his longsword on his person at all times.

[Tyrael]

Wrapped in a warm, forest-green winter blanket, a middle-aged man leans against the wooden tower of the signal fire and shivers. A worn battleaxe hangs from his belt, though the lack of notches in its blade indicate that it might be more of a woodcutting tool than anything else. His face tough and worn like old leather, and a single stripe of silver runs through his black hair. The rest of his garb is rather ordinary and rather similar to what most peasant farmers wear: Brown trousers, dusty black boots, a brown tunic. A drawstring sack is slung over his shoulder. The most interesting thing about this otherwise unremarkable fellow is the small wolf cub whose head pokes out of the blanket, staring around with bright, curious eyes that glint in the twilight.

The man's hand scratches his wolf behind the ears absently as he stares out at the horizon, bundled up in his blanket and waiting for night to fall.

[Rutskarn]

The card shuffler glances over at the wolf, drops his cards, and scrambles to his feet.

"Crimony, mate, you want to be getting away from that damn wolf? That ain't a pet dog, you know!"

[Tyrael]

The silver-striped man looks over at the card shuffler and grants him a quick flash of a smile that vanishes as quickly as it came. "Not quite a pet dog, but not entirely wild either," he explains. "I adopted him from a marketplace where he was caged up, and healed him a bit. He's taken a shine to me. Even though he's still a pup, I'd let him walk around normally, but it's cold tonight. I figured we could share a blanket." He shrugs.

[Rutskarn]

The card man bites his lip.

"Your wolf, huh? I guess...yeah, guess that's alright, and all, but make sure it doesn't kill nothing, alright?"

He pauses, then adds, "Hey, don't suppose you're in the mood for a little cards? Low stakes, just enough to make it interesting. Even play a few warmup rounds for ya, how about that."

[Tyrael]

"Maybe for just a few coppers," The silver-striped man says guardedly after a moment of reflection. He hunkers down on his haunches in the snow, burrowing his lower face into the blanket and the wolf's fur for warmth. "'m afraid I don't know much in the way of card games," he adds, muffled by the blanket.

[Rutskarn]

The man chuckles.

"Me neither, but what the hell, eh?"

He deals out a hand.

He loses a little more than he wins, and ends up 1 copper in the hole. He shrugs, says, "Guess it's not my day. One last round to get my money back?"

[Thatguyoverther]

The fat man stand close to the wooden tower, letting it block the wind. His doughy hands alternate between being stuffed under his arms for warmth or holding his nose, in hopes to stave off frostbite. A rapier bangs against his hip and a small shield bounces on his back as he shuffles back and forth trying in vain to stay warm.

He's never been so cold in his life. Surely a small fire wouldn't hurt? He eyes the unlit pyre with covetous eyes. He shakes his head, clearing the thought from his head.

At least he has his bulk to keep him warm. He pats his stomach affectionately. He frowns to himself. With all the marching and counter marching, there's significantly less to pat affectionately than there was just a couple of months ago. If it keeps up he might disappear entirely.

A new thought enters his head. Fire wasn't the only thing that could keep you warm on a night like to night. He searches around looking for a likely target to mooch a bit of the hard stuff off of. The elf! The elves are all lushes aren't they? He takes a few cautious steps forward. "Excuse me my fine featured friend, but you wouldn't happen to have a mite of spirits to fortify a half frozen comrade would you? I'd be much obliged. Nay, eternally grateful. "

[Helinon]

The elf looks up to the man and gives him a small smile. "Here comrade. You can use my blanket. I'll be fine without is and you could use it more than myself." He then gets up and hands the blanket to the man, the smile still on his face. "Be warned, I would like it back eventually. You understand that don't you?"

[Rutskarn]

Noticing the shivering man, the card player shouts, "Oy! Know what heats the blood up? Friendly card game, that's what. Come on, this one was about to get interesting, wasn't it?"

[Thatguyoverther]

The fat man smiles broadly.

"You make your intent as clear as crystal." He quickly huddles underneath the blanket. "You my friend are a prince among men." "We the fates half as kind as you I wouldn't be here, and unless I miss my guess neither would you." He extends a pudgy hand. "My name is Brutis Vespasian, of the house Vespasian. And by what name would I address this man before me, the soul of godly charity?"

Vespasian winces at the offer of a card game. "I'm afraid that the game would have to be exceptionally friendly. Given my recent run of luck I'd be without a shirt in no time, at fate that might be death in these climes."

[Helinon]

Ulfor takes his hand and gives a firm shake. "You may call me Ulfor Proau, and I was actually eager to join. I was a part of the Militia, as an officer, and I trained with the Guard for some time before my recruitment so I knew I would be recruited eventually. Also, unless I'm mistaken, the Vespasian's are some of the nobles of Gabinton. How in the world did you end up here? If my question offends you or is a sensitive subject and you do not wish to answer, that is fine too."

[Rutskarn]

The card player shrugs. "Ah, well, perhaps later."

He then turns back to the game in progress. "So. Call it a two-copper ante. You in?"

[Thatguyoverther]

Vespasian stares at Ulfor in astonishment. The concept that someone would willingly commit themselves to this frigid hell seems an entirely foreign concept.

"See, it's a good thing I didn't place a wager on my guess, or I'd be a poorer man for it. I'm afraid my story is significantly less patriotic than yours. You hit the mark with your assertion, the Vespasians are a Noble house of Gabinton, and at one point I was amongst their number. I had the bad fortune to be caught cuckolding an influential Viscount. He expressed his displeasure by instigating my unlanding and my conscription. You see before you a man of noble countenance and ignoble fate."

He gestures to his pack. "If your a man of letters and would like the full account, I've begun a poignant autobiography. Although I ran out of ink before finishing. Not that more would help, in this weather it's likely to freeze in the well."

[Helinon]

"I would be honored to read your story as soon as you are finished. For the meantime, let us try to stay warm. I did not know that our first battle would give our enemy such an advantage, with this cold. If our enemies are used to this terrain and weather they will perform much better than our men. For now, we should just be grateful that we won't be in the heavy fighting and we'll soon be warm." Ulfor talks with with the air of a man who has given this fight a great deal of thought and isn't just a mindless fighter.

[josh13905]

With his back to the group overlooking the landscape stands a thin man, his dark cloak swirling about him from the wind. A black cowboy hat covers his head. Shaking his head he turns back toward the group of watchmen. "Still nothing. No movement from the Elves." The wind comes again without warning, as his hand flies up to hold on his hat. His face was smooth shaven and his eyes closed as the wind scythed through him. For the hundredth time he wished he had a heavier cloak, and for the thousandth time that he hadn't been drafted into the army. He would soon be an old man, and should have been growing old and fat, instead he was marching across the land into winters colder than he had ever known.

Once the wind dies down he walks over towards the others"I'm Charlie, Charlie McNelly." His crossbow swings beside him as he walks, it's handle smooth from hands gripping it.

[Helinon]

Ulfor looks up when he hears the man introduce himself. "Charlie McNelly? As in the Charlie McNelly who owns The Dragons Drink?"

[josh13905]

Charlie looks over to Ulfor, "Yeah that's me..." then he recognizes Ulfor, Well, if it isn't Ulfor Proau, I'd say it's too bad you got dragged into this, but from what I caught over the wind you want to be here. You must be crazier than I thought."

[Helinon]

Ulfor gives Charlie a broad smile. "Well if one has been taught to fight one would jump at the chance to do so. In any case it was inevitable so i figured to make the best of it. How have you been? You look like you've seen better days."

[josh13905]

Charlie gave a small smile and sighed, "I'm getting old. I'm afraid that this war might be the end of me." He shivered in the cold, then looked over his shoulder for the elves, seeing nothing he returned his gaze to the group.

[The_JJ]

The muscular teen walks back to the camp after a trip behind the bushes. He rubs the fuzzy stubble that is his first beard and then heads over to the card game.

Deal me in. And- he slips a blacksmith's hammer from the front of his vest. we're doing street rules when it comes to dealing with cheats, understood?

So what're we playing? 5 card Tonk?

[Thatguyoverther]

"It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance Mr. McNelly. Any friend of Mr. Prau is a friend of mine." He pauses a hopeful expression on his face. "As a former purveyor of suck things you wouldn't happen to have a spare sip for a parched pallet would you? You must pardon me, the soldier's life has loosened my grasp of good graces. My name is Brutis Vespasian."

[Helinon]

"Oy!" Ulfor called out to the young man who had just joined the card game, "No violence here! If the elves ambush us here, we're gonna need everyone to fight. I'll let cheating slide here, for lack of better judgment, but how about if you're caught cheating you pay the other members of the game a copper. Sound good?" Ulfor sounds eager to deter violence from happening amongst themselves. Ulfor looks back to Charlie for a moment, "Don't worry my friend, I'll always be there to help you get through it."

[josh13905]

"Here have a sip o' this." Charlie tosses Brutis a wineskin and turns to the card players, I'm agree, besides I don't want to have to clean up after the lot of you fight."

[The_JJ]

The teen rolls his eyes. "Sure thing, boss," he accents the last word with the kind of sarcasm only grumpy adolescents adressing authority figures can bring to bear. You even know what street rules for cheating are? It means you pay up, or you throw down. No weapons, stop on a yield. He spits. Wouldn't want to risk denting my hammer on yer thick skull anyway.

[Rutskarn]

The dealer grimaces. "Yeah, I know what the damn street rules are. You think I grew up in a goddamn palace? 5-card tonker, no slides."

(Halfway through the hand, Spanky will cheat.)

Sleight of hand (1d20+5)[9]

(Well, that's not good. Roll Spot anyway, I guess.)

[The_JJ]

Spot: (1d20-1)[5]

Edit: For all his talk the teen is more focused on his hand than the other mans. Tonk! 17, bet you can't get under that.

[Gorgondantess]

Before Tom can notice Spetner's clumsy cheating, he notices a rustle in the bushes at the bottom of the hill. Narrowing his eyes and hoping to find some kind of easy game, instead there is the audible *twang* of a bowstring, and an arrow comes hurtling out from the foliage, lodging itself in the tower of wood behind you folks. As you all start at the sudden failed assault, some argument and a scuffle can be heard coming from the same direction as the arrow: it is in a foreign language, and Ulfor recognizes it as elvish, but it's a different dialect than he's accustomed to, and that, paired with his little practice in the language and distance from the voices keeps him from picking up anything. Finally, there is some real movement, and 4 elves, bows drawn, spring out of the bushes. All but one in the back have arrows nocked, and they push the one without forwards. He looks abashed, and glares back at them, then back up at you, shouting in thick accented common.

"Ahhhh... that vos a varning sott! Drop your vhepons, or ve vill be force to kill you!"