The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

[TheDivineWind]

Whipping his head to the side, the dagger whips by in a powerful if mal-aimed attempt to hit him. A grin spreads across Doroga's face as he realizes the man is only holding his greatsword with one hand. He grasps his polearm and swings at the man's wrist, hoping to force him to drop the weapon and remove a significant source of power from his immediate grasp.

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Disarm attempt. (since I have range, there is no attack of opportunity, unless you wanted to fling that great sword at me, I suppose...)
Opposed attack roll: (1d20+13)[17]
(+4 for 2 handed weapon)

You can attempt a disarming opposed attack roll if you win this.

Which you might, again with my pissy rolls.

[Keylac]

With a clang of steel hitting steel - and a curse from Ryn - his greatsword is knocked from his hand. A quick shake of his announces his disgust to those watching; it was bad enough that he'd allowed himself to be tripped, then missed his dagger throw, but to leave himself open to be disarmed...?

Still on his back, he took a split second, as the other man recovered his stance, to consider his options. None of them looked very good at this point, which didn't surprise him at all.

With a sigh that contained as much humor at his bull-headed stubbornness as irritation at his predicament, he decided that his best option remained stark, simple violence.

Without wasting another breathe, he whipped to the side, tucked his feat under him, and sprang to his feet, courting another attempt by the other man to pull him back down in exchange for mobility.

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Here goes an attempt to stand up. I'll go ahead and let you make your AoO before I finish my turn, since I need to know if I'm back on my ass or not.

Edit: Yeah, that didn't work so well. On the upside, at least DW missed his free attack. So, on to the finish of my turn!

As he attempts to regains his feet, the other man whips his weapon around again, catching Ryn's leg and pulling him over. The follow up strike, however, was badly aimed and went right past him.

"Thank Tymora for small favors," he mutters, as he attempts to move into a better position to defend himself.

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I'm taking a Full Defense Action until my next turn. My AC is at +4, and you're up DW.

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga seizes the opportunity and whips his guisarme at the man's leg, pulling it out from under him as he tries to push himself up. Another quick jab offers little success, clanking off his armor.

Doroga re-asserts his stance and aims again for a strike, but again it peels off nothing more than a sliver of steel.

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Attack roll: (1d20+9)[13]
Damage roll: (2d4+4)[9]

Sorry for the delay, GF wanted cuddles, and by thunder she got them! .\ /.

[Keylac]

As the other mans latest hit rings of Ryn's armor, he lets out a satisfied growl. The longer reach of the mans weapon was seriously hurting Ryn's prospects, but at least he wasn't bleeding any worse.

Temporarily stymied on his attempt to get back into melee range, he decided to go back to Plan B. Without missing a beat, he reached into his quiver and pulled out an arrow, throwing it at the other man.

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Yep, that is correct. I am throwing an arrow. Why? Because I'm never gonna get off this bloedy ground with him standing there Arrows, by the way, function as Improvised Daggers, so a -4 to my attack with it. How bad is it that I still find it more likely that I'll hit then that I'll get close enough to hit him?

Roll

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Rolling Ranged Attack, Arrow Throwing: (1d20+2)[16]

Rolling Damage, Arrow Throwing: (1d4+6)[7]

[TheDivineWind]

The last thing to fly through his mind before the arrow hit him was...

He is not going to throw that arr...

As the arrow thuds into his thigh, the pain overwhelms Doroga's concentration and he collapses. Seconds later he passes out from the pain.

[Neth]

Neth did not possess the most splendid specimen of human imagination, but even she could think of about a thousand spectacles of atrocity that the Thayans could be orchestrating, and a thousand more possible victims of their intent. As Daurily looks into her cup of water and speaks as though her father is most certainly the central part of all this, the druid fixes her eyes on the woman and studies her, trying to discern whether her cares simply weighed so heavy on her mind that she could think of nothing else, or whether there was some clear connection that Neth had not yet figured out.

She had made no progress before two strangers came through the door. Her expression snaps curious and alert, with little effort to hide this. One of them shot a look of what might be disdain at one of the Thayans. The druid decides she likes him.

While absently holding her wooden bowl steady as Gyl scuttles down her arm to peck at the stew remnants, Neth watches the two make their way to the bar. The elf she'd seen once in the streets appears no less ethereal in the rustic room, and the human moves to lean on the bar with that smooth, agile ease of manner, which to the uncoordinated druid, is like foreign magic.

At the elf's approach and request, Neth maintains an open, respectful expression, waiting for Daurily's answer, and ready with some thoughts of her own, if the discussion calls for comments on the Thayans, the missing cats, or the stew.

[The Smoking Man]

Neth, Perelia and Roen: Daurily answers Neth, "My father has made many enemies in his travels. A great many. If I acted every time my intuition told me that someone was here to make trouble with him, I'd likely have been killed or imprisoned years ago. My philosophy is to be prepared always, but never to assume. If they are here for my father, I am not worried, as he is upstairs and we stand between those Thayans and the staircase." With that she turns to the two new arrivals.

"Welcome friends. I hoe you have come at my behest as per my message. If so, kindly join me while we wait for any others." She turns to Perelia: "And what is this news from Noristuor? What threatens the town?"

She turns to Roen next. "And you, young man? I saw you entertaining the locals earlier. Are you here to rest your hands, or seek gainful employment?"

OOC:

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Perelia notices that the young Thayan becomes noticeably more irritated and agitated than before upon seeing her. Roen and Neth both notice this as well, though Daurily does not seem to. The merchants at the raised table have also noticed the congregation at the bar...

Doroga and Ryn: Doroga comes to under the gnarled face of the doddering cleric of Helm. "Ah! There we are. Right as a Rashemi rainfall. Up you go, then. I've more patients comin' through." he says in a jovial but hurried manner, gesturing for Doroga to leave the small tent.

Meanwhile, just outside, Ryn stands with his new friend the Uthgardt warrior, counting his prize.

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The purse for the Dirty Melee win is 300 GP. Doroga wins the showmanship prize, as the crowds loved his tripping and dodging finesse. He receives a potion of Eagle's Splendor and a shiny new spiked buckler courtesy of the Bears Errant's famed blacksmith, Gourdaln of Luskan (it even bears his signature on the front, marking it as a true collector's item.)

OOC:
More when I come home in a few hours. Doroga and Ryn are free to make their ways to the Inn, along with the Uthgardt.

[TheDivineWind]

Grunting as the healer helps him stand, Doroga pokes his tender pink flesh where the magic closed his wound, wincing slightly. The announcer declairs the winner and the crowd breaks into applause. When he is awarded the showmanship prize, Doroga only laughs and accepts the gifts.


Might as well live up to the title and give them a show.


He lifts his guisarme into the air and yells a wordless thanks to the crowd in order to rile them up. After a few seconds, he heads over to the dwarf and apologizes for his words.

"I meant no insult, dwarf. I only hoped to give myself an advantage in the fight and get the crowd cheering. Good fight."

Afterwards, Doroga tips his polearm in a salute towards Ryn and moves to meet up with him as they exit the arena.

"Well fought. I haven't felt a blow that powerful since my time in the guard fighting against the grey orcs of my homeland. My name is Doroga of Impiltur. How's about a pint?"

He slaps the man heartily on the side where the newly healed wound Doroga gave him would be. Doroga gives a wolfish grin and awaits the man's introduction and response.

[Dragonsong]

Studying the inn's inhabitants out of the corners of his eyes, a skill he had learned well in years gone by, Roen pondered exactly what to say to Daurily. The introduction of the Thayans, as she had identified them, into the mix of the many who wished Herlam ill further complicated matters. Were they in league with the Drow? It seemed unlikely. A better explanation would be that they too were after this book the Dark Elves' note had mentioned. Perhaps it held secrets of the arcane; that would make it attractive to both factions.

"I have your note, milady, if that's what you mean," Roen finally said, doing his best to hide his tension behind the friendly smile he almost perpetually wears, "and I've no intention of throwing it back in your face." He still had no idea why so many of those who'd been offered the document had thrown it aside so quickly; he could see nothing particularly threatening, ridiculous, or even specific in its contents. Perhaps it was because he did not know Herlam, but even if he hadn't intended to take the job the old man would've been an important part of the next half day.

"I couldn't help overhearing you saying your father has made many enemies. If you don't mind my asking, was that because of the deeds he did or," his voice dropped, not quite to a whisper but low enough that the Thayans wouldn't hear, "because of the things that came into his possession?" It was a pointed, straightforward question for several reasons. First, Roen was good at detecting lies, and if Daurily lied to him it would tell him much. Second, he could not be sure she even knew about this book, and if she was honestly surprised that was also valuable information.

[Keylac]

Response to the Uthgardt:

"Well-met then, Groban Hillspek. Truly, it was an honor to fight once more with an Uthgardt; you and yours are truly the might of the Northern Wilds." He pauses for a moment, taking a swig from the extended bottle before passing it back. "I am known as Ryn Kavaren, late of Deepingdale, and it would be an honor to share tales with you. For known though, I must take my leave and prepare for the fight. Rest well."

With a nod of respect to the Uthgardt, Ryn walks back to his horse next to the tree.

Up to the present:

As his opponent crumples to the ground, Ryn let's out a rueful chuckle. He certainly hadn't been sure that would work, that's for sure! He spends a moment more on the ground, feeling the fury leave him now that the fight was over, before grabbing his sword and heaving himself up off the ground.

A few minutes effort was rewarded with finding his dagger and cleaning his sword; both went back into their sheathes. In no time at all, with just a couple stops along the way, he finds himself healed and counting his winnings in front of the priests tent. His horse stands behind him, patiently, while he engages in idle conversation with Groban, debating the relative merits of a cavalry saber versus a longsword.

Hearing the priests words, he turns his head to see his last opponent sitting up. With a smile, he puts the money away, turns towards him, and sweeps his hat off his head in flourishing bow, waving him out of the tent to collect his own winnings.

After watching him collect his prize, they all move out of the arena, back towards the ford into town. Listening to the mans - Doroga's - introduction, he smiles, chuckling in appreciation when he slaps the now-healed wound.

"Well met to you then, Doroga of Impiltur. I am Ryn Kavaren, late of Deepingdale, and this is Groban Hillspek, Uthgardt warrior of the Screaming Wasp. We were just heading to the Arms for a drink ourselves, and would be honored to have you join us. The first rounds on me."

For a moment, his smile goes crooked. "I had invited our other erstwhile opponents as well, but they declined." His smile grows into a grin, though still crooked. "So, I suppose we'll have to drink their share as well."

Seeing that they had arrived at the inn as they walked, Ryn fishes a couple coins out his pouch, handing them to Doroga. "I need to put Banner in the stable, you two head on in. If you would, order a couple of pitchers of Arhlo's latest stout."With that, he heads over to the stable, still leading his horse.

Upon arrival, he raises an eyebrow at one occupant of the stable; a fluffy, almost furry pony. "Well now," he murmurs, seeing the pony. "That's certainly not from around here." Grinning at the thought of meeting a traveler from - he hoped - a distant land, he quickly removes Banner's tack and gear, leaving him in the care of the stable-hand. After placing the tack in the tack room, he strides back to the inn's door, walking inside.

Conversation with the Half-Elf:

As Ryn approached the half-elf, he's greeted by a glare. Almost against his will, a smile appears on his face. "Come now, my friend. There's no reason to be holding a grudge. It was a good fight; I had the wounds to prove it. Come, let me buy you a drink down at the Arms."

Conversation with the Dwarf:

After speaking to the half-elf, Ryn goes and finds the dwarf to invite as well. When he finds him, he almost winces. The dwarf does not look very good, even after healing, and his armor looks worse.

"You have my greetings friend dwarf; and my apologies. I had not meant to compound your misfortune by setting off that fire, but rather had attempted to get you back into the fight. Truly, ill luck followed you in that fight."

Ryn makes a throwing motion with his hand, as if to throw aside misfortune. "I would, however, be honored if you would join me for a drink at the Ashbenaford Arms. The first round is on me, and we can drink to better fortune on the next field of battle."

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I went ahead and incorporated DW's response to the IC post, since he responded while I was still writing. Also, Inn!

Note: Not sure on the price of the beer (his stuff may sell for more then the base after all), but that should be enough.

Note 2: Carrying the tack and crap until I can find somewhere to put it all down. Bloedy heavy stuff too. Edit: As Neth has kindly pointed out, there's a tack room right there. So, I'm going to put it in there, keeping (from the horse) only the saddlebags, sabre, and lance.

Note 3: Okay, and there's how I started the conversations with the Half-Elf and Dwarf. They're the "Couple of Stops" I made by the way, and I went ahead and incorporated their refusal in already.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia raises her brow at the mention of Thayans, and with a slight gesture to request permission she settles in at the table, sitting lightly and carefully on the wooden seat. "I believe that I may have a problem that is shared by a few here. My name is Perelia Laethia, of Halruaa. I went to the arcanist's competition held today by the town's wizard; during my performance I cast an illusion spell that cloaked me in the form of Elminster of Shadowdale. The man over there," she indicates with words and a slight gesture which one he is, "fled from the crowd, rapidly and a bit fearfully. Noristuor explained that the man represented Thayan interests in the area, and that he may be up to no good; whether or not that is true is up to me to determine."

Perelia looks to Neth, interested and inquisitive. "Tell me, dear; what is it that you know about those people, that has you concerned about them? I had only intended to come to this town for the competition, but between your request," she indicates Daurily, "and this request by Noristuor I am beginning to believe that attempting to meet all of my objective alone is unrealistic. I would like to get all the help that I can, if you understand my meaning."

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga looks down at the coins as they are deposited into his hand, then over to the young Uthgardt. Slowly, they both grin.

"Tonight," Doroga starts slowly, "...we drink like kings~"

"And tomorrow, we vomit like paupers!", erupted the barbarian.

To which the both of them cheer, "HUZZAH!"

The both of them turn towards the door of the Ashbendford Arms Inn. As they head off, the Uthgardt starts singing a song recalling the glory of some past battle in the name of Tempus, and Doroga does his best to ab-lib in descriptive lines of glorified battle where he can.

[Neth]

Neth makes a small sound of amusement in her throat, and answers Perelia, "They are Thayan. My horse could have told you they are up to no good. Little horse, I mean. Pony," she corrects herself, despite the fact that this is utterly irrelevant.

In a voice with slightly more tension she goes on. "The younger came in spooked. I went over. Tested them. Said I'd call a guard in for him, and he roared, 'No!' and trembled like a twig in a storm. They may be geshavlin," she says with clear difficulty, trying to gently pronounce a word that is typically spat in the midst of streaming curses. "Red Wizards. But I can't tell. They would be shaven," she said with a small gesture to her head. "With markings, sometimes. Of all Thayans, these are the most wicked, and most powerful. If the friends by the fireplace are these... we may all do well to gather some friends of our own. Quickly."

[The Smoking Man]

Early Evening of the Last Day of Flamerule, 1372 DR; The Ashabenford Arms Inn:

It seemed as if the heat of the day would never subside, but now, finally, a cool northerly breeze smelling faintly of oak and a dash of river drifts into town. With the cool air comes a cooling off of the day's trade. Merchants begin to strike their stalls, the mercenaries camped north of town dismantle their makeshift arenas, and the Riders report to the barracks for what will likely be a busy night of scouting, running messages, and making preparations to deal with a resurgent threat from the drow.

The townsfolk, however, are largely unaware of the Riders' errands, as canny Captain Thraeg has made a point not to alarm anyone. Meanwhile, Noristuor waits with growing anxiety in his tower for news of the Thayans' intent...

The proprietors of the Inn are not accustomed, it seems, to dealing with this many guests so early in the evening. Tsasha, the daughter of barman and owner Arhlo, comes down from her chambers in the tower yawning, not looking forward to a dinner rush so early in the evening. Arhlo, however, can almost be seen to smile behind his modest, polite-to-a-fault countenance.

Ryn, Doroga and the Uthdardt Groban Hillspek are seated along the right wing of the bar, opposite the stairs leading to the second floor, while Neth, Roen, Perelia and Daurily are clustered along the main wing of the bar, speaking in careful tones (quite the opposite of the three warriors, who drink and laugh merrily, ordering round after round of Arhlo's best ale). Arhlo's best happens to be a spicy amber Chondathan ale purchased not four hours ago. The stew is good, thanks to Arhlo's relationship with local rangers who know where to find the fattest rabbits in the Dalelands.

Despite the possible threats looming over Ashabenford tonight, the comforts of the hearth are denied to none...

...even to three travelers in hoods that lurk nearest the unlit fireplace. Normally, Arhlo would have lit the thing by now, but hasn't yet, possibly for fear that the foreigners may be less than amicable. Instead, he makes certain that Tsasha is ready with more wine when they require it.

***

Daurily responds to Neth. "Well then, Rashemi, consider yourself among friends. I, at least, will without question watch your back should those three try anything... I only wish there were some way to know if they were marked as you describe. It would certainly make things easier if we knew they were in fact Red Wizards..."

And then, upon hearing Perelia's description of the competition earlier, "Fled, you say? At the sight of Elminster?" she needs only consider this for a moment, then "Well then, friend Halruaan and friend Rashemi, I believe it may be safe to assume that they are at least up to no good. It is not the habit of well-meaning folk to run from the Chosen of Mystra."

Considering Roen's words, Daurily turns to him next. "It is a relief to hear that you come bearing good will toward my father and I, though you have never met him. Such honour. And yes... my father has indeed made enemies over the years, though to be honest, there are bards with more extensive lore on my father than I, his own daughter. We have not always been close..." she trails off for a moment, absently taking a swig from her empty cup, setting it down, then: "But perhaps those things are best left for your meeting with him. I would wait until he has had more rest - perhaps another hour or so - before inviting you and the others upstairs. The day's heat and travel has weighed heavily upon him." She continues in a more hushed tone: "And I fear not all parties present wish him well, at least not based on what Neth and Perelia, here, have to say."

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Currently, the only patrons of the Inn are you six (including Groban), Daurily, the three Thayans (who Doroga and Ryn and Groban do not recognize as such) and the four merchants sitting at the raised table, talking among themselves. Tsasha and Arhlo seem to be preparing for the night's main business rush, rushing in and out of the bar and kitchen areas.

Sottelgem Northhand, the halfling stable-hand, works outside in the yard, tending to your horses (those who have them) as well as Daurily's and Herlam's.

Also, I hope Ryn and Doroga don't mind my description of what you're doing at the moment. Feel free to rearrange and embellish as you see fit. Both Ryn and Doroga notice the relatively intense conversation between Roen, Neth, Perelia and Daurily.

Go forth and be awesome! And don't forget to ask if anything needs clarification. Also, to all those engaged in banter and conversation, feel free to post as many times as you like in between my updates.

[Keylac]

Leaning back against the wall, Ryn was greatly enjoying the conversation with his current companions, former opponents. The tales they swapped, of battles they'd fought, people they'd killed, and places they'd seen were a pleasure. They reminded him of that hoary old saw - See Strange Lands! Meet New People! And Kill Them! - but the world was what it was; a place of danger as much as wonder.

He'd noted the woman Daurily Corkwill when he'd come in, but had declined to interrupt her serious looking conversation with those foreign looking people. Hopefully, they were here to talk with her about her father as well; he would love the chance to speak with them of their homelands and the places they'd seen.

With a laugh at Groban's latest jest, he reached for one of the pitchers that they hadn't yet emptied, refilling his mug. He was careful to avoid knocking over his weapons; his lance and bow were leaning in the corner next to him, with his saber laying on the bar. He kept his greatsword on his back however, partially out of habit, and partially because he barely felt it's weight after all this time. He'd gotten an odd look from the barkeep when he'd first placed it all there, but it had been more questioning as to how he carried it all then worried by it's presence.

Still chuckling, he puts down the pitcher and reaches into a belt pouch, pulling out his pipe and tobacco. After stuffing the pipe, he glances at the hearth, looking for a light. Realizing that it's not lit, he shrugs, lifts the chimney off a lantern, and lights his pipe from a piece of tinder, replacing the chimney. After a few puffs to make sure it's lit, he waves out the tinder and turns to the barkeep.

"Ahrlo, why the cold fire," he asks, gesturing to the fireplace with his pipe, trying to keep a straight face. "Groban here is getting cold; you know his people are known for their delicate constitutions." Seeing Groban's face go from gathering thunder at the implied insult to uproarious laughter, Ryn loses his attempt to keep a straight face, grinning at the barbarian before turning back to Ahrlo. "Truly now, I know you and the lass are busy something fierce. Why don't I be lighting that for you then? I can see you've already done all the work and laid it out for us," he offers, already sliding off his stool, taking his mug with him.

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I'm just such a helpful sort, aren't I? I admit, I was terribly ambiguous about that last paragraph. It has a bit of a whiff of meta-gaming to it, but I just couldn't help myself. I like stirring up trouble. Not that this has to result in trouble of course.

As far as conversation goes, including talking to the party members me and DW haven't met yet, I'm more or less waiting. It would be less cumbersome if I react to them, I think.

[The Smoking Man]

Ryn: "Well," says Arhlo carefully at Ryn's offer, "I suppose ye could light the thing for me... it's just, y'know, so busy and all." He brings some flint, steel and tinder out from behind the bar and puts it in front of you. He laughs, "Dinner's on the house for you, Ryn, if you want to brave those three formidable foreigners, heheh!" though his laughter is more nervous than jovial. Arhlo doesn't like being intimidated, as it doesn't happen often inside his own common room.

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No worries about the pseudo-meta-gaming. I don't think any RP would ever get anywhere if players didn't at least act a little bit on meta-hunches and such. The only thing I have a problem with is PCs doing things based on knowledge there's no way they could ever possible have. But stuff like this? Not even a thing!

[Neth]

Neth eyes the exchange down the bar, and leans away from Daurily and the other two for a brief moment, hailing Arhlo over and reaching into her pouch for some coin.

"I'll pay for my meal now," she says to him. "And if you could pass me a bottle of your hardest stuff, I'll pay for that too. Need not be some fancy sort."

She barely finishes before Gyl makes a very bothered ruffle-fest of his wings and clips her elbow angrily with his beak. Neth makes a sharp sound and scolds him in Rashemi. "I'll get you one of your own if you cooperate with this. Now is not the time for games."

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Please advise how much I shall be forking over for the bottle, and I'll adjust my coin count!

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga laughs at Ryn's joke and gives Groban a teasing look and a wolfish grin, only to laugh more when the barbarian realizes the joke and bursts out laughing. As his giggles die down, he idly watches the barkeep and Ryn's interactions. Doroga's eyes followed Ryn's gesture to the fireplace. Through the light haze of the alcohol, he slowly becomes aware of the situation around him. The tension in the room and a trio of cloaked individuals standing next to an abnormally unlit fireplace for this time of day.

Slowly, his smile morphed into a thin line of non-expression, only to return a second later, if a little forced.

To Groban, "My friend," Dorogo utters as quietly as he can over the noise of the room, "near the fireplace, what do you see? I see three robed men, next to what should be a lit fireplace. The air in here seems a bit tense too."

Doroga looks Groban in the eyes, then over to the wall where their weapons lean, then back to Groban, raising an eyebrow. "I think we should be like your totem wasp; observant, quiet, and ready to sting at any moment."

He clears his throat and, a bit more loudly, "But until then, we have ALE!" Doroga downs the last quarter of his pint, then tops off the barbarian's cup and fills his own.

[The Smoking Man]

The Ashabenford Arms:

Neth: Arhlo brings a long, jagged, purple bottle out from behind the counter and says, "Be careful with this, Miss. It's used to the stomachs of fat merchant lords from Calimshan. It may not be so kind to one so unfamiliar with such things. Just the same, I'll give you discount. Consider it a preemptive apology!" he winks. "Five silver, if you please, Miss."


Ryn and Doroga: Groban returns Doroga's look and nods his understanding. You realize he's more discerning than the average Uthgardt tribesman. "Those robes sitting over there... they have a changeable look about them. Evil. Evil as rain in winter, to be sure." he drains his mug and waits as you refill it. "In the lands of my tribe, such evil is dealt with swiftly, but here..." he wrinkles his formidable nose, "here it is all waiting and watching. I prefer to sting." And with that, chugs the refill, lowering his reddened, ale-watery gaze at the three Thayans, spitting onto Arhlo's polished floor before rejoining the revelry.

Groban looks to Ryn and the items Arhlo placed before him. "Aha! Smart man. Thinks and stings at once, perhaps? I will follow if you will lead. Just say, as you say, the word."

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga snorts and grins, meets eyes with Ryn, glances over to the three hooded fellows, then at Groban with a knowing look. Slowly he stands, putting a few coins on the table, and collects his things, using his guisarme as a walking stick and releasing his own grip on his balance, enjoying the swaying motion the alcohol imparts upon its users.

As he stumbles out, he turns left and leans against the outside of the tavern, around the corner so's to be out of view of the hooded men, but close enough that he can run in should something go down. As he stands there, he tries to regain control over his mind, still swimming in ale.

[Keylac]

Shaking his head slightly at all the worrying going on - there's only three of them after all, and they hardly look like a cause to worry - Ryn takes the striker Ahrol placed on the bar and slips it into a pocket. Mug in one hand, pipe in the other, he heads over to the fire. After a couple steps, he starts to whistle. Badly. And off-key. And fairly loudly. He seems to enjoy doing it though.

Upon reaching the fireplace, he nods his greetings to the three folks at the table, places his mug on the mantle, sticks the pipe in his mouth, and kneels down to start the fire. With the pipe in his mouth, he can no longer whistle, and instead starts humming a catchy little tune he heard once in Cormyr. Unfortunately, his humming isn't any better then his whistling.

[Neth]

Neth thanks Arhlo, saying it's just what she wanted. The silver pieces clack quietly down on the counter, and Gyl snatches the bottle with his talons, fluttering off more lopsided than usual. Apparently not surprised, Neth turns back to the conversing travellers, and waits for an appropriate moment before addressing Daurily.

"As this good man asked before," she says, with a friendly tilt of her head to the seemingly cheerful southerner, "Might we know what it is that earned your father such attention?" With a respectful nod to the elven woman, Perelia, she continues, "If the wizard she spoke of is concerned, and if you do believe this peril somehow involves your father, it would be good I think, to tell us why."

"Raveth gadan kel tumma," she adds. "The strong fighter has strong reasons."

Her wary glance follows the movement of the strangers, and flicks a tentative grin to where Gyl has settled with his bottle of gruesome liquor. Up in the rafters. Above the fireplace.

[The Smoking Man]

The three robed folk sitting by the fireplace do not look impressed with Ryn's whistling, nor with his whim to light the fire. None of them, however, make a move to stop him. They continue to speak quietly in their strange tongue.

With Doroga righting himself outside the front door, Groban moves to the end of the bar's right wing and keeps his eyes on the Thayans (as well as Ryn).

[Dragonsong]

Roen remains quiet as the drinking and watching go on, torn between laughter at the curious, bumbling joy of drunkards and solemnness brought on by the knowledge of the attack that is to come. He cannot be sure that the riders will keep the Drow away from the inn, and thus far these others are unaware of any peril save the Thayans, who have committed no crime other than being quiet and moody, not so different from Roen himself at this hour. The riders seemed to wish to keep the news quiet, and until now the young Dambrathan had obliged. But the target of the raid had a right to know of that which might be his doom.

Besides, these others looked capable. If it came down to a siege of the inn, they might yet hold out.

"I fear that these Thayans may prove the lesser of our worries," Roen finally says, breaking his watchful silence with a fierce whisper directed at Daurily and audible only to those close at hand at the bar. "Tommorow's eve, the Drow who so recently harassed these lands made a demand of the town: that your father, and a book in his possession, be surrendered to them, lest Ashabenford be attacked. The time to meet that demand has come and gone, for neither I nor the rider captain would consider such an evil bargain."

Well, the truth was out. Attack could come at any time, with darkness fallen. "The Dark Elves may know where to find Herlam already, and we must be prepared to keep them from him. I suggest that someone, and I myself will go if asked, be posted beside his door, lest someone enter and come for him from the second floor." With a practiced eye, Roen gazed around the room, noting where tables and chairs could be made into barricades and determining the position with the best arc of fire for his crossbow. The die was cast; they could now only do whatever they could within this given situation.

"We must also watch that the Thayans do not take advantage of the coming chaos..."

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia's eyes whip over to Roen, her mouth slightly open and her long, graceful ears pointing with surprise. "And when exactly were you going to mention that we are about to be assaulted by drow raiders, sir? I feel that it may have been more than a little relevant to the discussion of threats and dangers to this town. I doubt they are in line with the Thayans, however, and that gives me an opportunity to exploit." There is a small amount of vitriol in her voice, though she seems to have no trouble believing Roen.

Perelia stands, taking up her staff-bow, thumbing the string once to produce a mellow hum, testing the tension in the string. She looks at Roen once, very sternly, and she asks him a single question; "Are you positive that your information is correct?" After receiving confirmation, verbal or not, she turns to the room, raising her voice to an impressive tone that fills the room easily, without sounding like a shout or yell. "Listen now and listen well, for apparently," she shoots Roen another look, "We have but a day to prepare for an attack. This town receive a threat of assault from a band of drow raiders, who were asking for an unacceptable ransom. The men in charge of such things declined, and they will be charging in tomorrow evening. I, for one, am disinclined to allow them to kill me, and so I believe some preparations are in order."

She turns toward the Thayans, directly and earnestly. "You three are not the sort whom I am inclined to trust, just as I would not ask you to trust a Halruaan. That said, for the mutual benefit of ourselves and the continuation of our lives, I recommend that whatever point of contention may be between you and myself, or yourselves and this town, they be laid aside until we can address this threat. The drow," she says with a bit of dry humor, "will kill you just as readily as the rest of us, and divisiveness is not a stance of power. If you are who I believe you to be, you are wizards, and that means that preparation is your power just as it is mine. I am being earnest and honest with you, despite having no cause to do so, out of hope that by preserving you own lives you aid the defenseless people that live in this area. When you meditate tomorrow, keep in mind what comes tomorrow evening. I ask nothing more of you."

She lets the words sink in for half a moment, the bar silent, before looking to Roen, gesturing for him to stand. "This knowledge I have is second-hand, but this is the man that gave it to me. Please, sir, elaborate; I've set the floor for you."

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Let's get thing done, ladies and gentlemen. Perelia isn't one for lazing about.

[The Smoking Man]

The Ashabenford Arms:

The elder of the three Thayans stands slowly. He cracks his neck before turning to meet Perelia's stern gaze with a look of haughty superiority. "The danger, elf, is not ours, but yours. Our ends can be accomplished and we can be gone from this place long before those Underdark rats make their presence known." He removes his hood from his head, revealing a complex series of twisting runes tattooed expertly about his head, neck and shoulders. "I am Otythir of the Red Wizards of Thay, and I am the architect of your demise!"

With this, the other two Thayans pop out of their seats. The woman acts first as everyone is still shaking their heads, casting a Grease spell in a 3/4 circle around their table. The elder for his part, draws and points a wand at Ryn, who barely has time to turn around before receiving a face full of Magic Missiles.

The younger of the three Thayans moves with unsteady hands, but manages to scream a few Draconic syllables, unleashing a blinding mote of light directed at Perelia's eyes.

OOC:

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Alrighty! Let the madness begin!

- Ryn takes 8 damage from the missiles.
- Grease spell is cast across the front approach to the table (Ryn is not affected).
- Perelia must Will Save or be Dazed.
- Ryn has succesfully started the fire.
- Doroga can clearly hear the curfuffle from the front porch.
- Gyl is in position...

Thayans' Initiative:
Elder (Otythir): (1d20+5)[24]
Woman: (1d20+1)[10]
Apprentice: (1d20+1)[18]

I'll roll everyone's initiative just to keep things moving, and we'll use the turns method suggested by Ryn in the OOC thread.

Good Guys Initiative:
Ryn: (1d20+8)[19]
Neth: (1d20-1)[13]
Doroga: (1d20+1)[15]
Roen: (1d20+3)[17]
Perelia: (1d20+3)[20]

Groban: (1d20+2)[9]
Daurily: (1d20+2)[12]

So the order is:
1. Perelia, Ryn, Roen
2. Thayans
3. Doroga, Neth, Daurily, Groban

Post your actions when it is your group's turn. For coordinated actions, work it out in the OOC thread. After each group acts, I will post results/lead-in to the next group's turn.

So that means Perelia, Ryn and Roen are up!
EDIT: Tac Map is now available! Note that everyone's token is the first two letters of their names. Bad guys in red, good guys in blue, bystanders in green.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia shrugs of the weak offensive enchantment with disdain, letting out a short, mocking laugh. She slips a hand into her spell component pouch, taking out a tiny bit of gristle, rubbing it between her delicate fingers with practiced ease. "Pathetic, really. Arrogant. You think your magical power compares to my own? Enough so that ever single other person in this establishment will not be enough to overcome your pitiful enchantments? You'll die for that foolishness, Thayans." She shouts out a few words of arcane power, High Elven and Draconic, and the floor directly beneath the Red Wizards becomes as greasy and slippery as the area that they had already slicked.

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Grease, centered under the Thayans so that it gets all of them. DC 16 Reflex or they fall down.

[Keylac]

When the oddly-dressed elf had started talking, Ryn had barely paid attention to her, sparing her but a glance when she first started speaking before returning his gaze to the fire. He was a Dalelander himself - if the Drow were raiding, that simply meant it was Fourth Day. Something to be hated, certainly; to be feared even. But not something surprising. With half an ear, he listened to her short, earnest speech.

The newly revealed Thayans though... that was more pressing. Ryn had just finished lighting the fire, rising to his feet while pocketing the striker, when the wizard - Otythir - made his statement. He whirled around to face them, not appreciating them threatening someone in the inn. Which is when the magical bolts hammered into him from the wand.

As he half stumbles back against the mantle - in sheer surprise more then pain - his first thought was simple: Well, that's gratitude for you! Last time I light a hearth for them!

As he recovers his balance, he sees the elf step forward and cast a spell. Apparently the whole bloedy inn was full of wizards tonight. Shaking off the thought as a useless distraction, he focuses on the wizard that matters - the one arrogant enough to pick a fight with him within swords reach. With a glint of true humor in his eyes, he watches as the elf's spell causes all the wizards to slip off their feet, falling to the ground. Apparently, they were better finger wigglers then fighters.

Taking advantage of their predicament, Ryn takes a stride forward, greatsword whistling as it comes out of it's scabbard and down in a brutal chop at Otythir, Red Wizard of Thay.

OOC

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5 foot step to get next to Otythir, then a 4 Power Attack hit.

Rolls

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Rolling to hit Otythir, Red Wizard of Thay in Round One: (1d20+5)[7]

Rolling damage to Otythir, Red Wizard of Thay: (2d6+16)[26]

Yeah, I'm gonna put that one down as "Possible but unlikely" and only possible because it's a wizard with a -4 from being Prone. Bah.

[Dragonsong]

It'd had to be said; the danger was coming for this very inn, and preparing those within was far more important than the rider's instruction to prevent a panic. Roen almost wished he'd said it sooner, especially after the Elf's tongue-lashing of him, but knew that he'd needed time to turn it over in his mind before he decided. This could, in the end, cause more harm than leaving the defense to the riders; he'd needed to weigh his options. But the people here seemed capable, and adding them to the town's defense seemed a better idea than allowing them to be surprised if the riders were broken.

Still, he winced when the Elf announced the impending attack to the whole common room; a panicked mass exodus from Ashabenford would only provide the Drow with more and easier prey, whether for slave-taking or casual slaughter of those they considered lesser beings. Roen had a good idea of how they worked; this was a raiding party, used to running down their prey, and there would be no easy escape. The only hope of anyone who fled was that they were more focused on old Herlam and his book, and Roen still wasn't sure how they fit into the whole picture.

Still, the secret was out, and Roen stood to speak after the Elf's introduction. But it was not to be, for a new danger had been brought into play when the attack was revealed; the Thayans had decided it was time to move. Spells flew, and Roen did what he always did when mages started throwing their power around: he went for cover. He was but a man, incapable of touching the forces of creation and destruction. Perhaps this situation need not devolve any further; perhaps his tongue, his greatest weapon, could end the fight. But if not, he was ready to use other means.

"You're being fools," he shouted, kicking over the raised table in front of him and sliding down behind it as he drew forth his crossbow, already loaded. "I'm the one who has seen the Dark Elves. Do you really think they'll take any chance of your escaping with the very thing they desire? They have the village surrounded, and mages of their own. Keep up this fight and you'll be dead, whether at our hands or at theirs. Only with us do you have a chance." He could only hope his words would be enough to sway the foolish wizards from their course, for otherwise they'd soon arrive in the beyond.

Roen had been a killer for much of his life, to be sure, and for a good cause, if that mattered. But after the way he'd felt when he'd slain that man in his sleep, evil though the Crinti slavedriver had been, he'd known he was no cold-blooded assassin. Ever after he had given his foes a chance to surrender. Few had taken it, but what joy he felt when someone did! Whispering the command word to his weapon, he prepared himself to strike should his words fall on deaf ears...

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26 on Roen's bluff check to convince the Red Wizards that they cannot escape the Drow, even should they prove victorious in the skirmish...

[The Smoking Man]

The Ashabenford Arms:

Thayans, First (Non-Surprise) Turn:

Perelia's answering spell had seen all three Thayans fall ungracefully to the hardwood, only to be followed by a fierce attack from Ryn, whose sword just swings true, but is hindered in its approach toward the elder Thayan's neck by an invisible field of force that shimmers slightly on contact.

True, fiery anger showing on his face, Otythir yells: "Telzos, now!" At this command, the erstwhile merchants who had gotten out of Roen's way at the table, suddenly changed in manner. The lead merchant, a portly fellow of middle years, removes his hat, and somehow with it, his entire self, to reveal a lithe woman in sinister red and black armor, wielding a curved longsword and shield.

Her three companions shimmer for a moment with arcane unraveling, revealing their true forms as well: three Gnoll warriors, one equipped with a particularly nasty bow. The four new combatants move to intercept who they perceive to be the greatest threats to their masters...

"I have no doubt," yells Otythir above the fray, "that your news of the drow is certain. Our designs, however, shall not overlap." With this, Otythir mutters a few arcane words, summoning forth a roiling orb of fire that materializes above Ryn, and proceeds to try to engulf him...

The female Red Wizard attempts to stand, as does the younger of the three. The wizardess succeeds, but the younger one fails miserably and ends up flailing around in the muck.

OOC:

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So, a reflex from Ryn is required.

Flaming Sphere damage should Ryn fail Reflex: (2d6)[10]

Also, on the map, M1 turns into the Thayan Knight, M2 and M3 into Gnoll melee warriors, and M4 into the Gnoll archer.

M3 Moves in front of Perelia and begins to menace her.
M1 Moves in front of Daurily and does the same.
M2 Moves to engage Roen.
M4 Knocks and arrow and begins to size-up targets, remaining stationary.

Note: Otythir is still prone, as well as the younger Thayan. The Red Wizardess is back on her feet, however.

Roen: Your Bluff worked, as the Thayans believe that if they were to stick around, they would not in fact escape the drow onslaught, but they seem to have other knowledge that prevents them from surrendering.