Edge of the Empire Garrison Town (IC)

[Mordae]

From the west, the deep, booming sound of a gong announces the gate watch has observed the last sliver of the red-hued sun dip beneath the fertile grasslands that surround the Mianar Empire's easternmost outpost, Wrensfair.

Not that the impending darkness matters much to the town's denizens. Bobbing torches and swinging lanterns replace the single bright orb as a means of light, and the merchants, shoppers, and partiers go about their merry business. Music pours forth from the numerous taverns and cafes that surround the central sea of tents that is The Bazaar, mixing with the din of hawkers and hagglers to create a cacophony of sound unmatched in any part of the empire--perhaps, even, the entire world.

The occasional tramping of boots announces the roving presence of the imperial garrison, whose soldiers are charged with ensuring the frivolities are conducted without damage to life, limb, or property. And, in general, the revelers are content to these limits. Life is good; the Empire is at peace; and the continual caravans of trade bring people and goods--and more importantly, money--to this pleasant edge-of-the-empire garrison town.

Tucked into the southwest corner of The Bazaar, near enough that the incense from the temple district near the south gate can be smelled, is a little inn called the Phoenyx's Rest. It's popular with folk who do business with any of the religious types, and also with those who prefer to be able to sleep without the constant noise of commerce.

The downstairs common room, while spacious and brightly lit by oil lamps, is sparsely occupied; white-washed stone walls surround the long wooden tables set atop the dirt floor. A few weary travelers are wrapping up their evening meals, and the rest of the regulars--some ordinary folk, but also some mercenaries and off-duty guardsmen--are quietly enjoying their drinks. The proprietor, a wiry, bald man in his late forties who hails by the name Caius, is resting on the stool behind his well-worn bar, reflecting on yet another prosperous day.

[Torgarn]

Demitrus (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=277973) walks into the inn, Evening Caius, you have my daily pints?

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=278457) is still in the market, looking around at all the things merchants happen to be selling. He isn't looking for anything in particular, he just likes spending money on trinkets and souvenirs.
Treasure on the other hand...treasure he likes to earn!

[Gray Mage]

Torrin (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=278924) is still in the inn, enjoying an ale, or what humans call ale anyway, before visiting the temples and taking care of business.

[Mordae]

Caius smiles at the muscular veteran as he enters the inn, gesturing to the pair of pint glasses at Demitrus's favorite stool. "Two honey meads, as always. You're a few minutes late, sir--don't tell me one of those pretty-eyed bards caught your ear in the Bazaar, eh?" The barkeep winks, as though to suggest he might have more knowledge of his friend's affairs than might otherwise be normal.

Across the inn, there are a few murmurs and even a couple of half-salutes in the direction of the noble warrior. Some of the "mercenary scum" that frequented this place had, years ago, served with Demetrius in the garrison, though their reasons for getting out were often less honorable.

As Demitrus takes his habitual seat, Caius leans in casually across the bar and lowers his voice a notch or two. "So, what HAVE you been up to, Dem?" he asks in a voice of a concerned friend and patron.

Out in the markets, Albecius is browsing at tent flaps and taking in the sights. The smell of tobacco is strong in this particular street, obscuring the general spice-laden aroma, for he finds himself in the company of jewel buyers and sellers; this lot tends to be the most protective and secretive of all the merchants in Wrensfair.

[Torgarn]

Somberly Demitrus looks at Caius Well, I am doing about as well as always Caius, he sighs, Though I lost my retainer today, looks like I'm going to have to find some work

[TechnoScrabble]

Market

Albecius takes in the smell and smiles. He may not smoke, but he still enjoys the smell.
He eyes the gems that are out in the open, and looks around to see if there might be anything of a nice royal red or indigo color to add to his collection. Maybe set in bronze or silver...

[Mordae]

Caius leans a bit further across the bar. "Well then, I might have some news of interest. Seems a caravan of silks bound for Greymount disappeared this morning. Word on the street is that old Satrah One-Eye is behind it. Figured maybe you and some of your chums might want to check out that rumor, seeing as there's still a large reward on that bugbear's head..." He pauses. "Though you might want to take along some good back-up. I can see you coming back here broke and broken if you trust these chumps." He gestures with one raised eyebrow toward the seedy group of ne'er-do-wells playing cards at the back of the tavern.

Albecius finds a cleverly made little piece, with four garnets set in a triangular pattern--three at the points, one larger one at the center--surrounded by polished, skillfully engraved bronze. The garnets shine bright and ruddy in the torchlight. The merchant bows low at the centurion's approach and offers in honeyed tones, "A hundred gold pieces, noble warrior, but for you I will sell it for ninety."


[roll0]

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius nods.
"It's a very good work. Are you the one who crafted it, or are you a patron of the finer arts?"
Albecius had seen some conquest in his days in the army, and looks closely at the work, double checking it visually. After all, one can never be too sure.
Appraise check
[roll0] The +2 is from his intelligence bonus.

[Gray Mage]

Torrin still sits in his corner, drinking his ale.

(OOC:Sorry, in a hurry, I'll make a bigger post tomorrow. Was the statblock good?)

[Mordae]

Albecius can find no flaw in the piece; it seems to him to be exquisite. "My brother is the finest craftsman in bronze," the merchant states modestly. "Note the intricate scroll-work; it takes a delicate hand to master such ornamentation. Do we have a deal?"

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius grins.
"It is an amazingly well crafted piece. I'll buy it. Do you have a chain for it?"
He's off-handedly thumbing out the coins now.

[Torgarn]

Thank you for the advice Caius Demitrus says quietly then stands up. Any of you lumps want to go hunt some bugbear he shouts at the top of his lings.

[Mordae]

"Absolutely, good master," the merchant says with an oily smile, pulling up the corner of the cloth on which the amulet was displayed and rooting around for a few seconds, producing a simple bronze loop-chain. "Will this do?" His eyes are drawn to the flash of gold in the torchlight.

In the tavern, the seedy-looking mercenaries eye the shouting dwarf warily. "Hasn't even drunk his mead yet," one of them sniggers to a fellow. "Yeah, old codger, go back to your herbs and berries and leave fighting to the real men!" one of the more boisterous ones heckles; the scars on his face speak of real battle, though not necessarily victorious. None seem to keen to take up Demitrus's offer in the midst of a quiet evening of drinking.

[Torgarn]

Cursed cowards Demitrus mutters as he swigs down his ale, he drops the price of the alchohol on the bar, I'll see you later Caius, I need to go find me some partners for this venture with that he turns around and tromps out the door.

[TechnoScrabble]

"Certainly. How much more for the chain?" Albecius sees the merchant eyeing his coins and smiles.

[Gray Mage]

Torrin aproaches Demitrus."Dun listen to them, my dwarven brother, those humans wouldn't know real fighting if it struck them in tha head. Tha name is Torrin, a servent of Vulcan. You said something about hunting?"

[Torgarn]

Aye, I did theres a piece of scum, goes by the name of Satrah One-Eye. The piece of trash has a price on his head and I've recieved intelliegence that a missing caravan may be his doing. I'm planning to go after him, and while I hate to admit it I need a partner or two to help watch me back when I take him down.

[Gray Mage]

"Aye, always ready tha help a fellow dwarf. Lead on."

[Torgarn]

Then lets get going, I know a information broker who is based in the market, we'll go to him to get info on where old One-Eye is iding.

[Mordae]

Demitrus and Torrin make their way through the torch-lit streets, following the growing din of the Bazaar until they are engulfed by the sea of tents. The old dwarven druid's aim is unerring despite the crush of the crowd, and before long he has led the pair to their destination--by strange chance, the self-same jeweler's tent where Albecius is doling out coins while the merchant carefully attaches a bronze chain to a garnet-studded triangular pendant.

"Here you are, good sir, and I thank you for your business. May the fortune of the gods shine on you this night," the merchant says with a fluid bow and a touch of his fingers to his temple. His well-oiled beard curls markedly outward as he makes this polite gesture.

[Torgarn]

Demitrus waves at the merchant Evening to ya Porthos, I'm here on business. We should go inside, this isn't the sort of thing one discusses in front of others, he looks pointedly at the man standing there.

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius graciously accepts the garnet, sets it on the chain, and wraps it around his forearm instead of wearing it as a necklace, and places the coins on the table.
"Thank you, good merchant. I'll probably return once I have more wealth to share, huh?" he grins and turns around.
"Ah, should I not be here, then? I'd best head off," Albecius bows swiftly to the dwarves, who may notice that he has a finely crafted spear and shield on his back behind the backpack that has his armor in it.

[Torgarn]

Hmmm, be you are warrior of some kind. We could use some more help with the goal we are pursuing.

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius raises an eyebrow.
"Ah, I'm a retired soldier, yes. What exactly are you trying to ah, do?"

[Torgarn]

There's a Bugbear named Satrah One-Eyed, a more depraved soul your not likely to meet. I've heard a rumor that he may be behind some missing shipments and most recently a caravan of silk traders. We plan to hunt him down and retrieve any people who he may have taken, along with the cargo.

[TechnoScrabble]

"Stolen caravans, ah? That's rather bad for the enconomt, and those people who depend on them, I suppose. Ah, I suppose I could tag along. There's not much I have to do right now."

[Gray Mage]

Torrin stays quiet while Demitrus speaks. He has never been much good with words, he was always more of a listener than a lecturer.

[Mordae]

The merchant called Porthos looks sharply at Demitrus, raising one thin eyebrow. "You are going after Satrah?" He glances up and down the row of tents as if looking to see if anyone is watching, then hurriedly beckons the trio into his tent. "Quickly, let's not be overheard."

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius shrugs and will follow the dwarves in, looking around carefully to check if anyone is watching. He doesn't know why they must be so secretive, but he understands the importance of it.

[Mordae]

The interior of Porthos's tent is cozy and dimly lit, subdivided into several chambers by curtains of gauzy fabric that obscure all but shadowy shapes on the other side. Porthos gestures for everyone to rest on the pillowy cushions scattered on the floor of his main chamber, while he steps behind one of the curtains to emerge moments later with a bottle of cordial and several small glasses. He pours a small amount of the dark, syrupy liquid into each glass and presents it to his guests with a half-bow.

"My watchers have been picking up noise that Satrah--Jupiter curse his name--has been on the move of late. This is always bad news for he is a skilled robber, and worse still I am expecting a caravan shipment of jewels to arrive within the week. My wagons are naturally heavily guarded, but I have no doubt One-Eye will grow bolder if his lesser exploits go unchecked.

"For a small price, I can put you in touch with the inquisitive fellow who discovered Satrah's hideout. How he pulled off such a feat without being caught and disemboweled is probably a story worth hearing, I'd wager."

[Torgarn]

Would we not be doing you a favor, pre-emptively dealing with a potential threat to your jewels Porthos, I hope in light of this the fee isn't to high.

[TechnoScrabble]

"I mean NO offense whatsoever in this sir, but it doesn't make sense for me to pay for information that MIGHT lead me to someone I'd have to fight and possibly die fighting against to get anything done," Albecius kindly refuses the drink, he doesn't like drinking during business, alcoholic or not.

[Gray Mage]

Torrin merely sips the beverage. Ever since he left the dwarven lands he has met disapointment with alcohol. How can they drink this weak stuff?

"Wait. We need tha pay ye so tha we can get rid of a bandit and yer shipment be safe? Aye think me common is a bit rusty, could ye say it again?"

[Mordae]

Porthos spreads his hands. "Ah, my friends, but here is where the money is to be made. Satrah has plundered caravans for many years. All of these riches would be yours. I will lay no claim to them, so long as you bring me that blasted bugbear's head on a pole." He leans his head to the side ever so slightly, as if to gauge the effectiveness of his words.

[Torgarn]

How much do ye want then?

[Gray Mage]

Torrin will stay quiet while the others negotiate, taking one last suspicious glance into his cup.

[TechnoScrabble]

"It sounds rather good to me. After all, if the state can amass such a treasury by plundering the lands of its foes, why can't we?" Albecius' eyes shine a bit at the thought of all that gold.

[Mordae]

Porthos gives Albecius an oily smile. "That's the spirit. Fifty gold each--t'would be a bargain at twice the price, but I like you, Demitrus, so I'll give you and your cohorts here a discount." He holds out his palm, offering to clasp with the dwarf. "Do we have a deal?"

[Torgarn]

Haha, I'll give you 10 gold myself and I can't speak for the others.

[Gray Mage]

"Aye be willin' tha pay 20 gold fer yer information, if tha would help us."

[TechnoScrabble]

"One hundred and fifty marks for the three of us to get the information? I guess I could pay for the lot," Albecius begins searching through his pouch.

[Mordae]

"Now there's an enterprising lad," Porthos says with a smile. "Perhaps I'll have more work for you in the future, if you succeed. Seems my dwarven friend here has lost his thirst for battle." Once Albecius comes up with the money, the merchant accepts the coins with a bit of a bow. "I will have my man contact you at your favorite watering hole. It may take me a day or two to dredge him up--he's quite an expert at making himself hard to find." Porthos raises his glass one last time. "To your success!" he toasts.

[Torgarn]

Aye Demitrus downs his drink in a single swig.

[Gray Mage]

Torrin nods in agreement, but will not touch that vile drink anymore.

[TechnoScrabble]

"Victory. Success. Glory. Gold," Albecius raises his glass.

[Mordae]

After the deal is sealed, the group returns to their own affairs for the night, gathering the next evening back at the Phoenyx's Rest. Dinner passes, and the evening drags on for hours as the other patrons get deeper into their cups. Finally, after some number of the regulars have pushed back their stools and headed for bed, a short, slim figure darkens Caius's doorway. The brown-robed newcomer has his head wrapped in a scarf of green silk that billows out from behind him as he confidently strides over to the back table where Demitrus, Albecius, and Torrin are sitting, completely ignoring the large number of empty tables in the common room. He gestures with one pale, slim-fingered hand at the empty chair at their table and asks in a low voice, "This seat taken?"

[Torgarn]

That depends on who's asking.

[TechnoScrabble]

After the deal is sealed, the group returns to their own affairs for the night, gathering the next evening back at the Phoenyx's Rest. Dinner passes, and the evening drags on for hours as the other patrons get deeper into their cups. Finally, after some number of the regulars have pushed back their stools and headed for bed, a short, slim figure darkens Caius's doorway. The brown-robed newcomer has his head wrapped in a scarf of green silk that billows out from behind him as he confidently strides over to the back table where Demitrus, Albecius, and Torrin are sitting, completely ignoring the large number of empty tables in the common room. He gestures with one pale, slim-fingered hand at the empty chair at their table and asks in a low voice, "This seat taken?"

"It doesn't appear so."

[Mordae]

"Let's just say that Porthos sent me," the slim man advises as he pulls the chair out and turns it around, sitting such that the back of the chair is between his legs. "Is this all of you?"

[Gray Mage]

Aye, tha be it. More tha enough tha handle some bugbears, mind you."

[Mordae]

The man smiles. "So long as you don't expect me to come clean up after you. The name's Slim. If it be bugbears you hunt, I've got the lead on a particularly nasty one who's hiding out about ten miles southeast of town. You might want to bring your spelunking gear, though--his hideout's a bunch of holes in the rock."

[Torgarn]

That's odd, I wouldn't expect Satrah to live in a hole.

[Mordae]

"Well, he doesn't exactly want to have a legion or two knocking on the door of his palace, does he? It's not much to look at on the outside, but trust me, he lives like a king within. Even got a throne room with gold-leaf walls. Now, the main entrance is a death trap designed to catch anyone bringing in a large force, but no one ever uses that. There are secret passages for everything, and I found the one his raiders use when they come out for caravan runs. It'll drop us right between the barracks and the armory, just off the Grand Hall." Slim presses the palms of his hands together, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

[Gray Mage]

"Very well then, lead tha way. We'll find him."

[Torgarn]

If ye try to turn on us though, I'll gut ye myself.

[Mordae]

The figure pulls down the scarf that covers his face, revealing a fine-featured elvish grin. "You'd have to catch me first, short-legs, but worry not; I don't truck with traitors. Now, you really want to head out in the middle of the night? I'll give you this, you dwarves have style. Settle up your bar tab and I'll meet you out front." With that, Slim slips off the chair and weaves his way through the sea of tables before disappearing out the front door.

[Torgarn]

Demitrus approaches the bar, How much de I owe ye then.

[Gray Mage]

"Night?"- Torrin asks the newcomer- "Hah. Far me it be as clear as day outside."

He then heads to the bar, waiting to hear who much he's supposed to pay.

[Mordae]

Fortunately for the dwarves, the running tab is relatively small. In addition to the 10gp cost of food, drink, and lodging, Caius agrees to keep the rooms reserved and asks for a 5gp retainer "to manage your personal effects on the chance you don't return."

Albecius has a slightly higher bill, summing to 25gp.

[Torgarn]

Demitrus plunks the amount he owes down on the bar. Let's get a move on then.

[Gray Mage]

Torrin does the same, waiting for the others outside.

[Mordae]

The two dwarves join the skulking elf outside the bar, but have to wait for several minutes before Albecius comes out to meet the group.

From the quiet little district, it's a fair walk to the nearest gate, and the quartet has to pass through several streets lined with revelers. Most are too drunk to even notice the armed group in their midst, and those that do make eye contact shy away--a fight isn't their kind of party.

At length, sometime around midnight, Slim leads the hired adventurers through the torch-lit tunnel under the massive city wall and out into the still darkness of the eastern wilds.

"We'll be headed southeast for a number of miles. The mark is a rocky spire that's got a hole bored out near the top; from there, we head south. Everyone ready?"

[Torgarn]

Aye, let's get on with it then.

[Mordae]

Almost before Demitrus can get the words out of his mouth, there's a shout from Albecius. Something large and chitinous has latched on to the plates of his armor with one slimy claw and is lining up to strike with its raised, articulated tail stinger.

Slim spits out an oath and dips his hands into his cloak, a pair of daggers emerging.

To battle!
Please roll initiative and post your first action. I'll provide a round summary once everyone has acted. Squares are 5'. The ^'s represent the rocky mounds nearby, which are difficult terrain.



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o---------------o

[Gray Mage]

Initiative [roll0]

Cursing the sudden monster, Torrin moves to stand behind Albecius, strapping his buckler to his arm and picking his heavy warhammer in one hand. "Back to tha ground where ye came from, ye filthy beast!" He screams, as he bring the hammer down, trying to crush it.

Attack [roll1]
Damage [roll2]

[TechnoScrabble]

initiative 1d20 plus dex bonus [roll0]

Albecius curses at his player being unable to find this thread and figuring it died himself for not noticing the creature before it attacked him and reaches around to try and pull it off of himself and pin it down!

Grapple check 1d20 plus base attack plus strength bonus [roll1]

[Mordae]

Torrin leaps to the offensive, smashing the critter with his hammer and hearing a satisfying crack from the carapace. The attack delays the stinger strike long enough that Albecius is able to wrestle the oversized insect to the ground.

However, the tough warrior doesn't have enough limbs to pin back every natural weapon the scorpion posesses. With claws and tail held down, the beast tries to latch on with its fearsome mandibles. Albecius feels a pinch as the bug tries to bite through his armor, fortunately to no avail.

Demitrus circles around, but with Albecius locked arm in claw with the beast, there's no place for the dwarf to attack safely.

[Gray Mage]

"Daft bug. Tryin tha bite more than ye can chew. Hold him steady, my friend."-Torrin says, while bringing the hammer down on the creature's head.

I don't usually play with grapple rules, but I think I can attack with no problems, right? In this case:
Attack [roll0]

Damage [roll1]

[TechnoScrabble]

Albecius tries to move out of the way and tries to hold the oversized scorpion thing down!

1d20+5 1d20 plus strength bonus plus base attack but i don't remember if I get a bonus for having successfully grappled the previous turn!

[Mordae]

Albecius manages to hold onto the scorpion long enough that Torrin and Demitrus can bring their weapons to bear, smashing the chitinous exoskeleton until greasy yellow ichor spurts all over Albecius's armor. The scorpion twitches a couple of times but does not move to attack.

Slim peers around from the rocky mound and remarks, "Nice work. I guess I can assume stealth won't be our modus operandi against the bugbears, eh?" He grins, rather toothily for an elf.

[Torgarn]

I'll be happy to tear his throat out. Demitrus says, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. He is an abomination and should be put down just as an other terrorizing monster should.

[Gray Mage]

"ave ye trie' tha be seaky with 350 pound of armor? It be tricky."