Infoweasel's 5E Eberron Campaign [IC]

[infoweasel]

Spoiler: Akoo

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It’s been several months since you were apprehended by a Magebred cavalry unit as you wandered out of the Mournland. You have not been mistreated, although the cavalry soldiers were slightly less than polite in escorting you. The entire unit keeping pace with your plodding bulk (just in case), you were brought to the hulking sight of one of Breland’s magical innovations during the Last War: the mobile, floating city-fortress of Dejarn. It’s mile-long bulk, a mix of a small, normaly-seeming town on the rear half and a heavily fortified and shielded tank like edifice on the front half, it was in the latter portion of the city-fortress you were detained in. You were specifically questioned by and subsequently briefed by a fellow Warfoged named Drengi, explaining what had happened since what you now know to be called the Day of Mourning; the War was over, Warforged are free but their line of reproduction cut off, and the number of new nations.

When you expressed no interest beyond continuing to serve Breland, you were given Identification Papers, sworn in, and re-issued the rank of Specialist.

Dejarn turned out to house a fair amount of Warforged veterans along with a mix of Breland’s softer races, and you were able to get along easily enough with your fellow non-biological fellows, but the biological soldiers and civilian staff were a little bit slower to warm up, given your appearance and the fact that you just wandered out of the Mournland after two years inside that mad place. The city-fortress continues its circuit of the Mournland border, occasionally stopping to allow scouting parties to come and go, and once a month a small tent-village springs up when Dejarn needs to resupply.

It was during one of these resupply stops you were offloaded last month, bearing a letter bearing the magical seal of House Sivis and the personal seal of the commander of Dejarn, Lanre ir’Tain, with instructions to deliver it to a Sergeant Enthaon in New Cyre. Your military I.D. papers (also bearing House Sivis’ mark) will allow you free passage on any lightning rail in Breland for the purposes of this mission, alternatively the walk to New Cyre from where you are located would be a few days and nights march, but given Warforged near-tirelessness both would take about the same amount of time as by lightning rail.

EDIT: FYI this one is going to be unique inasmuch as it gives Akoo and Bannen a scene together before they meet up with the rest of the group, but if fits really well with both of y'all's backgrounds and the story. Balls in your court, Akoo.

[infoweasel]

Spoiler: Lure

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After a performance at a moderately reputable cabaret in the middle city of Sharn, a liveried House Sivis messenger is pointed your way by the barkeep. With nary a word, he hands you a letter sealed with the mark of House Sivis, ensuring it has been read only by its author and the intended recipient. The more mundane wax seal of Brelish Intelligence Services marks the closure of the envelope. Crisp, clean script presents a ‘unique opportunity,' repeatedly emphasizes ‘generous compensation’ and even goes so far as to point out that the mission should not involve any need for you to engage in 'targeted extraction,' which you've learned means 'assassination' in security-speak.

Finally, you are asked to make sure your identification papers are in orders, a provides a voucher for a House Sivis member to update your papers if necessary. A lightning rail ticket is included the envelope, the terminus of which is Vatharond, a town near the border of the Mournland. A farrier waits for you there, alerted by urban messenger, providing a horse and a map to a location that appears to be in the middle of nowhere south of Vatharond, near the border to the Mourn.

Strangely, it is signed by an actual officer, General Lanre ir'Tain, where in your previous services it was simply ended with the seal of Breland 'on behalf of His Royal Majesty King Boranel ir'Wynanr' with no signature.

When you arrive, in the middle of nowhere in semi marshy lowland hills along the border of the Mournland, you'll find a well-guarded (by mercenaries) caravan / tent village that's popped up waiting for Dejarn to arrive and resupply, and to of course soak up some of that sweet sweet soldier cash, according to the merchants waiting its arrival eagerly. You've heard of the floating city fortress and its sister fortress Argonth, the last two of a series of mobile fortresses deployed over the course of the Last War.

[infoweasel]

Spoiler: Princess

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While in Sharn, you are informed by a the druid has been training you on the unique ecosystems of Sharn, one Irayne D'Vadalis, that a house representative recently asked her to send you on a brief mission to escort a quartert of magebred horses from Vathirond to a location that due to its sensitive nature will be provided to you after arriving at Vatharond. He feels the respite from the mostly arcane magics and dull cityscape of the megapolis will do you good. Much to your chagrin, the method of transport will be lightning rail to Vatharond due to the time-sensitive nature of the delivery.

A farrier waits for you there, alerted by urban messenger once you disembark. After checking your identification papers, the four fine steeds are handed into your custody, along with a map to a location that appears to be in the middle of nowhere south of Vatharond, near the border to the Mourn, about half a day's good ride from your point of arrival.

When you arrive, in the middle of nowhere in semi marshy lowland hills along the border of the Mournland, you'll find a well-guarded caravan / tent village that's popped up waiting for Dejarn to arrive and resupply, and to of course soak up some of that sweet sweet soldier cash. You've heard of the floating city fortress and its sister fortress Argonth, the last two of a series of mobile fortresses deployed over the course of the Last War.

Spoiler: Eldon

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While enjoying some downtime in Sharn, you receive a letter privately delivered and sealed with the mark of House Sivis, ensuring it has been read only by its author and the intended recipient. The messenger apparently has no issue tracking you down in the part of the lower city you tend to frequent, although he is accompanied by a half-orc bodyguard who surveys the crowd with a coolness of expression uncommon to that race.

A more mundane wax seal if Brelish Intelligence Services marks the closure of the envelope. Crisp, clean script presents a ‘unique opportunity suited to your specific skill set, repeatedly emphasizes ‘generous compensation’ and even goes so far as to point out that the mission should not involve any need for you to engage in 'targeted extraction,' which you've learned means 'assassination' in security-speak. Finally, you are asked to make sure your identification papers are in orders, and provides a voucher for a House Sivis member to update your papers if necessary. A lightning rail ticket is included the envelope, the terminus of which is Vatharond, a town near the border of the Mournland. A farrier waits for you there, alerted by urban messenger, providing a riding dog and a map to a location that appears to be in the middle of nowhere south of Vatharond, near the border to the Mourn, about half a day's good ride from your point of arrival.

When you arrive, in the middle of nowhere in semi marshy lowland hills along the border of the Mournland, you'll find a well-guarded (by mercenaries) caravan / tent village that's popped up waiting for Dejarn to arrive and resupply, and to of course soak up some of that sweet sweet soldier cash. You've heard of the floating city fortress and its sister fortress Argonth, the last two of a series of mobile fortresses deployed over the course of the Last War.

Spoiler: Fandus

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You are approached by a royal attaché to Morgrave University to act as a civilian consultant to a military research project that will be of special interest to you. You are specifically asked to bring any and all research material that you and Psaen (your colleague from your background) had been working on together recently. Any questions about the project are met with "classified" and "you'll find out when you get there," but you are repeatedly assured that you will find this project of particular interest given your penchant for historical investigations and previous research projects.

You are asked to make sure your identification papers are in orders, and provides a voucher for a House Sivis member to update your papers if necessary. A lightning rail ticket is similarly provided, the terminus of which is Vatharond, a town near the border of the Mournland. A farrier waits for you there, alerted by urban messenger, providing a horse and a map to a location that appears to be in the middle of nowhere south of Vatharond, near the border to the Mourn, about half a day's good ride from your point of arrival.


When you arrive, in the middle of nowhere in semi marshy lowland hills along the border of the Mournland, you'll find a well-guarded (by mercenaries) caravan / tent village that's popped up waiting for Dejarn to arrive and resupply, and to of course soak up some of that sweet sweet soldier cash. You've heard of the floating city fortress and its sister fortress Argonth, the last two of a series of mobile fortresses deployed over the course of the Last War.

[snowman87]

Lure rides up to the makeshift town and approaches the nearest official guard he can find. He dismounts and adjusts his outfit after riding for so long. Then, for show, flourishes his cape. He is dressed finely, too finely for anything other than the stage, but impressions are important. His outfit is purple and trimmed in yellow. He has a wide-brimmed hat with a large feather sticking from the band. An ornate sword hangs from his hip. He approaches the guard on foot and makes an elaborate bow. Greetings, good sir! My presence was requested by General Lanre ir'Tain, himself! I am Lure, master performer! Please have the General notified of my arrival as soon as possible. He flicks a copper piece into the air for the guard to catch (or let drop) and spins dramatically, causing his cape to flutter, as he returns to his horse and makes his way toward the first drinking establishment that he can find.

[infoweasel]

Lure rides up to the makeshift town and approaches the nearest official guard he can find. He dismounts and adjusts his outfit after riding for so long. Then, for show, flourishes his cape. He is dressed finely, too finely for anything other than the stage, but impressions are important. His outfit is purple and trimmed in yellow. He has a wide-brimmed hat with a large feather sticking from the band. An ornate sword hangs from his hip. He approaches the guard on foot and makes an elaborate bow. Greetings, good sir! My presence was requested by General Lanre ir'Tain, himself! I am Lure, master performer! Please have the General notified of my arrival as soon as possible. He flicks a copper piece into the air for the guard to catch (or let drop) and spins dramatically, causing his cape to flutter, as he returns to his horse and makes his way toward the first drinking establishment that he can find.

The guard's battered chain shirt jingles a bit as he reaches out to snatch the copper out of the air, though he doesn't say anything as he moves his readied crossbow aside to stuff it in his coin purse. Given that you're obviously not interested in a conversation, he simply shrugs and goes back to keeping watch over the unloading of what appears to be crates of foodstuffs from his employe's covered wagon.

'Drinking establishment' is about as accurate as a description as one could give of what you find, as the mix of the series of upended casks with flimsy stools and planks placed atop logs to serve as benches certainly couldn't be called a tavern by any right-minded person. The open-sided tent shelters the eclectic mix of furniture as well as a somewhat pudgy-faced man with short, curly hair behind the makeshift bar, which is a series of sturdy-looking planks actually nailed down onto posts driven into the ground. Sawhorses supports a few large casks of some sort of booze, and a pile of worn-looking wooden cups are in the process of being cleaned by the barkeep - if this could indeed be called a bar - as you approach. The tent is empty save for you and he.

As your bright plumage graces the drinking establishment, the barkeep's eyebrow raises at you, followed by a smirk. "You the entertainment? Here's the rules. One: I don't pay you. Yer hat'll make a fine donation bin, I surmise. Beer's half-price, though. Two: Don't rile up 'em up any more'n they already are. Their sergeants generally keep 'em in line but that don't pay for broken tables and such." Nodding at a mostly empty corner, he finishes, "You can set up over there."

[snowman87]

Lure removes his head and nods graciously, his light blue hair hardly disturbed by the breeze. I thank you for your graciousness, sir barkeep. I'll bring you a crowd so large as to empty your casks of drink and break your mule's back with coin. But first, pray tell, what goings-on occur here? He intricately dances a silver piece between his fingers, as if as a subconscious habit.

[Molemanking]

Eldon Gladdenstone

Riding into the center of the tent village, a loud barking pierced the air as Eldon's mastiff mount announced his presence. Casually dismounting from his "steed", the gnome scratched the beast behind the beast behind the ears as the many layers of his mismatched clothing ruffled and jingled slightly. Now that he was standing relatively still, it was plain to see that this gnome was unusually tall for his race, almost standing eye to eye with a dwarf. He ran a hand through his short, messy black hair before turning to lock eyes with anyone that was still staring. "Must be a quiet day if you punks have the time ogle every gnome that graces this hovel. If you've nothin' to do, how about you tell whoever's in charge that Eldon's here. If he's important he'll know what that means. "

[infoweasel]

The barkeeps bass timbre is tinctured with a lilting accent as he cleans another wooden cup of dust and travel debris. "Y'mean you came all the way out here an ya don' know? A honeypot of cash is what goes on for those in the know and have the means to drag their carcasses out to Dejarn's resupply stop. Diff'ren place 'vry time, and the muckety-mucks only tell a few people a few days ahead of time. Security an' all dat."

Looking out of the sides of the tents at the barren landscape beyond, he finishes, "Don't worry about the crowd, though. We've a captive audience, fer better 'r worse. Should be here in an hour or two." Setting down his cup, he leans out of the side of the tent and casts his gaze about for a bit, before finally squinting into the overcast afternoon's haze. "There she is. Aye, an hour or two, depending on how eager the pilot is to get 'ere."

In the distance, a bizarrely shaped silhouette hangs a few miles away. Doesn't really look like it's moving, though.

Spoiler: OOC

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Make a Perception check, DC 15.

Spoiler: Success

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Success: You can tell it's moving towards you, just very, VERY slowly. Whatever 'it's is is huge, now that you take distance into account...

[infoweasel]

No one was really staring before, but the the guard you accost certainly pay attentions now where previously you were just getting curious glances before boxes were continued to be unloaded. Grunting, the half-orc Darguun mercenary shows more tusk as he bends down a bit. "Is all gnomes as angry as you?" Letting the end of his maul - which stands taller than you - rest with a *thud* next to him, he straightens up. "Anyway, piss off. Ain't no one in charge here, least 'till the MP's show up an' start crackin' heads. Should be showin' up about midday."

Spoiler: OOC

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With your experience during the war, you're familiar with the fact that 'MPs' are 'Military Police,' whose most common and unenviable duty is keeping soldiers on leave from doing anything overly stupid.

[Xhosant]

Spoiler: Fandus

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You are approached by a royal attaché to Morgrave University to act as a civilian consultant to a military research project that will be of special interest to you. You are specifically asked to bring any and all research material that you and Psaen (your colleague from your background) had been working on together recently. Any questions about the project are met with "classified" and "you'll find out when you get there," but you are repeatedly assured that you will find this project of particular interest given your penchant for historical investigations and previous research projects.

You are asked to make sure your identification papers are in orders, and provides a voucher for a House Sivis member to update your papers if necessary. A lightning rail ticket is similarly provided, the terminus of which is Vatharond, a town near the border of the Mournland. A farrier waits for you there, alerted by urban messenger, providing a horse and a map to a location that appears to be in the middle of nowhere south of Vatharond, near the border to the Mourn, about half a day's good ride from your point of arrival.

When you arrive, in the middle of nowhere in semi marshy lowland hills along the border of the Mournland, you'll find a well-guarded (by mercenaries) caravan / tent village that's popped up waiting for Dejarn to arrive and resupply, and to of course soak up some of that sweet sweet soldier cash. You've heard of the floating city fortress and its sister fortress Argonth, the last two of a series of mobile fortresses deployed over the course of the Last War.

Fandus was quite excited for the trip. Whatever it was that this project was about, it ought to be interesting if they'd be so firm in keeping it clandestine. His interest has only been peaking since he learned of their proximity to the Mournland, and then of being where the mysterious fortress city, Dejarn, was due to arrive! It was the scars of history and its mobile relic, and Dejarn at that, not Argonth! Even if yesterday's history, that's what they were! Maybe he'd glean a peak in the fort of the sky, or be part of an incursion to the Day of Mourning's mark?

All that aside, he' only pay part of the experience's price. All of the requested research material was here, but a single piece wasn't labeled as such. Repetant as he was about depriving the men's curiosity of some knowledge, the Tome was not to be handed to anyone else.

[Molemanking]

Eldon Gladdenstone

No one was really staring before, but the the guard you accost certainly pay attentions now where previously you were just getting curious glances before boxes were continued to be unloaded. Grunting, the half-orc Darguun mercenary shows more tusk as he bends down a bit. "Is all gnomes as angry as you?" Letting the end of his maul - which stands taller than you - rest with a *thud* next to him, he straightens up. "Anyway, piss off. Ain't no one in charge here, least 'till the MP's show up an' start crackin' heads. Should be showin' up about midday."

A menacing sneer spread across the gnome's face as the half-orc spoke. "No, but most are only half as pleasin' to the eye. And you said that no one's in charge? Well then, I guess that means I'll be staying 'in town' for alittle bit. 'Least until I find who I'm lookin' for. Hope that ain't a problem? Now how about you point me in the direction of whatever passes for a tavern around here. Might as well start the day off good and drunk. Oh, and somebody take care of my mount, he's on loan."

[infoweasel]

A menacing sneer spread across the gnome's face as the half-orc spoke. No, but most are only half as pleasin' to the eye. And you said that no one's in charge? Well then, I guess that means I'll be staying 'in town' for alittle bit. 'Least until I find who I'm lookin' for. Hope that ain't a problem? Now how about you point me in the direction of whatever passes for a tavern around here. Might as well start the day off good and drunk. Oh, and somebody take care of my mount, he's on loan.

The noise the guard makes is equal parts grunt and laugh. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Zilly. Bar 'n picket line are over there," the direction provided with a nod towards what might be considered the 'front' of the tent village, given that there's larger tents in that area than elsewhere.

Spoiler: OOC

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"Zilly" is a common pejorative for gnomes of Zilargo. Also, a picket line is a literally a line of rope tied between poles that one can fasten one's mount to, not a group of striking unionists.

[Xhosant]

After an inexplicable pause, probably due to absentmindedness, Fandus aproaches the camp, looking for signs on what he's supposed to be doing, and where the lore needs delivering.

[infoweasel]

After an inexplicable pause, probably due to absentmindedness, Fandus aproaches the camp, looking for signs on what he's supposed to be doing, and where the lore needs delivering.

The camp is a beehive of activity; porters lug boxes hither and yon, shopkeeps hurriedly do their best to present wares in as pleasing a manner as possible - the richer merchants who deign to be out in the middle of nowhere having the capital to move things en masse have people offloading carts for them, while other more meager entrepreneurs offload baskets from horses in makeshift market stalls only recently unloaded from the same horse.

Among the frothing sea of business, only the stalwart guards remain placid. None of them seem overly concerned, keeping watch over the richer shopkeeps' wares as they're unloaded, doubtless watching for sticky fingers to chop off in the case of Darguun mercenaries, which are plentiful. No Sentinels here, though there's a healthy enough mix on non-Marked men and women, given the ending of the Last War and a glut of violent folk recently dispossessed of their reason to do violence.

A few of the guards spend more than just a few moments sizing you up, one orc even sniffing in your direction before returning his attention to the crowd at large, which now includes yet another strangely dressed non-merchant.

Only a few of the more meager shopkeeps are set up and ready to go, accents and faces of myriad peoples exhorting your business by way of fresh fruits, gewgaws and tchotchkes, and cheap but delicious freshly cooked foods.

[Xhosant]

Remembering the amount of time since his last meal, Fandus indulges in a small bite, something that won't risk dirtying the tomes. Bite in hand, he looks around for some guard to inquire about his newfound superiors.

[infoweasel]

Remembering the amount of time since his last meal, Fandus indulges in a small bite, something that won't risk dirtying the tomes. Bite in hand, he looks around for some guard to inquire about his newfound superiors.

You are handed meat on a stick from the portly proprietor of Papa Pig's Meat on a Stick, the tiny stall brightly decorated by a dancing hog, for just 1 copper!

Plenty of guards are about, but none of them are wearing anything even close to a uniform. Most are taciturn, but in twos and threes the more friendly lot have gathered here and there, chatting away the time while keeping half an eye on their employer's wares.

[Xhosant]

Picking an extra dozen's quarter meat-sticks, Fandus makes for the friendliest-looking trio in sight.

"Excuse me," he says with a confidence that's long served him through his career, "but I don't supposse any of you would mind pointing me in the direction of whoever's in charge?" The meat is getting offered around just like the question.

[infoweasel]

Picking an extra dozen's quarter meat-sticks, Fandus makes for the friendliest-looking trio in sight.

"Excuse me," he says with a confidence that's long served him through his career, "but I don't supposse any of you would mind pointing me in the direction of whoever's in charge?" The meat is getting offered around just like the question.

The meat is accepted first, then the question in answered by the biggest of the three guards overseeing the wares of a fairly well to do tinkerer's cart. Between mouthfuls, the red-bearded human explains, "Ain't no one really in charge. We's three signed on with this here fellow, but this ain't a town in the proper sense. Once fortress is gone, so's the folks. Hubbub is it'll be here about midday." Looking up, he frowns at the sky. "****e weather, or you could probably see it better. 'nother couple hours, I 'spect." Finishing off the stick and tossing it on the ground, he rumbles, "I guess whoever's in charge of Dejarn'd be the closest. Dunno who that is, but look for the fancy sashes when theys get here, them's the officers."

[snowman87]

Spoiler: Perception

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(1D20+3)[12]

Lure thanks the barkeep and tosses him the silver piece. After getting a drink he makes a show of setting up where the bar keep told him to, flourishing his cape off of his shoulders to set it over a cask and plops his hat down on top of it. He pulls out his flute and warms up with it for a few minutes before launching into an up-tempo number to gauge the audience in the street.

[Molemanking]

Eldon Gladdenstone

Eldon sighs loudly before taking the reigns of the mastiff mount as he makes his way to the picket line. "So hard to find good help these days." After tying his mount to the the line, the tall gnome entered the bar and stepped up to what would be considered the counter. "You got anything worth while to drink?"

[Xhosant]

The meat is accepted first, then the question in answered by the biggest of the three guards overseeing the wares of a fairly well to do tinkerer's cart. Between mouthfuls, the red-bearded human explains, "Ain't no one really in charge. We's three signed on with this here fellow, but this ain't a town in the proper sense. Once fortress is gone, so's the folks. Hubbub is it'll be here about midday." Looking up, he frowns at the sky. "****e weather, or you could probably see it better. 'nother couple hours, I 'spect." Finishing off the stick and tossing it on the ground, he rumbles, "I guess whoever's in charge of Dejarn'd be the closest. Dunno who that is, but look for the fancy sashes when theys get here, them's the officers."

Fandus sighs. Here he is, with a (heavy) crate of invaluable tomes, and he has to wait for the rendevous. The humid weather isn't the best for them either, even given decent protection by the container. He best find temporary shelter for them, so he begins looking around, perhaps for a suitably protected cart that's just about unloaded?

[infoweasel]

Fandus sighs. Here he is, with a (heavy) crate of invaluable tomes, and he has to wait for the rendevous. The humid weather isn't the best for them either, even given decent protection by the container. He best find temporary shelter for them, so he begins looking around, perhaps for a suitably protected cart that's just about unloaded?

After a bit of poking about, you find one entirely empty covered cart. Like most of those who can afford it, however, it's guarded. In this case it's a female human with a crossbow. Not that she sees you as a threat, given as how you're not bothering her master's property.

[infoweasel]

Eldon Gladdenstone

Eldon sighs loudly before taking the reigns of the mastiff mount as he makes his way to the picket line. "So hard to find good help these days." After tying his mount to the the line, the tall gnome entered the bar and stepped up to what would be considered the counter. "You got anything worth while to drink?"

As you walk under the eaves of the tent, a changeling in bright clothing is having something pointed out by the barkeep as he leans out of the corner of the tent. Returning to his station, the pudgy-faced man point at four barrels in turn. "White wine, red wine, wheat beer, stout. All 1 silver a cup," which you know to be an outrageous cost, twice and then some the cost back in Sharn. But then, this isn't Sharn.

[Molemanking]

Eldon Gladdenstone

Eldon let out a sharp bark of laughter after hearing the price the barkeep stated. "A silver, for only 1 cup? Tell me, are your brews personally crafted by the brew masters of House Ghallanda? Because if this swill isn't going to be the best thing I've ever drank, ...well I'll leave that to your imagination. "

Spoiler: Intimidation

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(1d20+3)[17]

[Akoo]

Two years of waiting inside the Mournland after the destruction of Cyre had elapsed. Many came in that time, treasure seekers, lost wanderers, disheveled souls. Some persevered while others perished. Though the hope slowly died of someone, something, anything coming along to re-build the formerly prosperous nation, or to collect the remainders of those left behind, those who survived the Day of Mourning. The hulking construct stepped out of the doomed nation, perhaps if no one was sent to search for him, he had to begin a search of his own.

Apprehended by the Magebred cavalry unit and taken to Dejarn, it was here Akoo would learn that much had changed. The concept of being free was a strange one to the Warforged who was programmed to keep a militant mindset. Luckily, an opportunity allowing servitude was readily available. A strange new feeling, one of curiosity replaces the constructs hopelessness. This leads the clunking robotic figure into a march towards the nearest lightning rail for the ride to New Cyre...

[Bladecutter]

Nice day out. Bannen muses, looking up at the early afternoon sky above New Cyre. Clouds are plentiful - good for outdoor labor. The rain in the distance, though, not so much. Going to rain 'round dinner. Should finish up what I can before it hits. He sighs and continues construction of a more permanent dwelling for some new refugees. It isn't his trade, but it doesn't take an expert to take hammer to nail and follow directions. That's all he did during the war, after all. It just happened to be a different nail. "Got to secure the tents from the wind, too."

It has been an easy day thus far, impending rain notwithstanding. He got all of the hunting done over the past few days, having taken a few of the more eager youths along with him to show them how it was done. As willing as he is to assist, he's but one man with a handful of hunters to provide for a growing number of mouths. Their training is coming along well enough, so it'll only be but a few days at most until he can divert his attention elsewhere to leave the hunting in other hands.

All he has to do is finish what remains of the skeleton of this shack, secure the tents protecting the town's construction materials and various other storage, and he's done to retire to his hammock (under a tent, accursed rain!) and a good book he's going to borrow from that kind scribe woman that gets a bit stammery when he's in her shop, maybe a well-earned ale to top off the evening that absolutely nothing is going to ruin or interrupt. Not a single thing will go wrong or otherwise disrupt his relaxing evening. This is a fact that he has stated to the world, and the world will undoubtedly abide by this statement of fact.

[infoweasel]

Eldon Gladdenstone

Eldon let out a sharp bark of laughter after hearing the price the barkeep stated. "A silver, for only 1 cup? Tell me, are your brews personally crafted by the brew masters of House Ghallanda? Because if this swill isn't going to be the best thing I've ever drank, ...well I'll leave that to your imagination. "

Spoiler: Intimidation

Show

[roll0]

The barkeep looks pensive for a moment, then crosses his arms and leans on the bar. Voice low, he concedes, "Alright, 5 copper, but don't spread word to the soldiers. They don't care about their money anyway, or they wouldn't be spending it here. Here, first cup's on me. What's your pleasure?"

[Princess]

Onata rides her horse slowly into the make-shift settlement, keeping her grip firm on the leads for the other three horses. She is alert, observing all that the area has to offer, and assessing the current happenings. She observes the sites, sounds, and smells, and keeps an eye out in particular for any sign of where she should take the horses.

[infoweasel]

Onata rides her horse slowly into the make-shift settlement, keeping her grip firm on the leads for the other three horses. She is alert, observing all that the area has to offer, and assessing the current happenings. She observes the sites, sounds, and smells, and keeps an eye out in particular for any sign of where she should take the horses.

The smell of horse sweat and excrement is strong towards the front of the camp, though there are a few animals here and there still tethered to their carts and wagons. Those merchants already set up - mostly the smaller ones - bark their wares at you in a cacophony of accents and tones as you walk by.

[Molemanking]

Eldon Gladdenstone

"Now doesn't that feel better? I hear honesty is the best policy in some circles." Eldon chuckles softly before he points at the barrel of red wine behind the barkeep. As he waited for his drink, he scanned the bar casually for anything interesting. However, he certainly wasn't expecting to see a familiar face playing his flute. "LURE! How is my old rival doing this day? I assume better since you get to see my handsome mug."