A Little Journey IC

[Ridai]

It has been raining heavily all day in Crystal Falls, the thick clouds hanging oppressively above those unfortunate enough to have to be outside on this day. All color is drained from the glorious trade city, replacing it with gray dreariness. No smiles are to be found in the faces of those that cross one's path, everyone clutching their coats as make their way through the unkind weather. Even the sparkle of the three waterfalls plunging from the cliff the city is build up against is gone, making them look like large streams of tears left ignored.

In the city's saddened heart, within the famous Battlekeg Tavern, most miss the liveliness that inhabits this place on every other day. The half-orc barkeeper keeps polishing a glass, looking to a picture of the dwarven and half-orc founders of the place and other depictions of good times, emitting a yearning sigh. The human bar maid forces smiles for the customers, but even her pretty face can't bring more than fleeting relief to them, all as she tries to keep the corners of her own mouth from plunging like her shirt's neckline. Even the beautiful elven bard can only play a few quiet notes on her lute as her colleagues remain silent, the maiden wistfully lost in memories like so many patrons this evening.

The group has had rough times as of late. Most of their money stolen by hungry, desperate, homeless kids today, half of the rest invested into the ales or meads before them, the other gold coins each resting in their pockets. No saucy dwarven wenches had smiled Dain's way and the mood is too dark for a good fight. Fargrim's allergy is haunting him with a bad itch after tending to the needy. Elorin is only now done with pulling splinters from his knuckles after that terrible accident. Several dwarves already patted Wismire's shoulder, lamenting his unfortunate state of beard emphatically. Even his owl is looking out of energy.

As the fireplace is illuminating their weary faces, the group can't help but reminisce about past adventures and better times as they soak in welcome warmth from the fire. Surely, things will get better from here on. Right?

Insert sad violin/piano music here

Welcome to this sadface introduction to A Little Journey, a 5e game of beards and randomness. Feel free to talk a little amongst yourselves, fate (or something similar) will soon take its course.

[Phrenologist]

- Wizard Wismire the Mighty, ex-apprentice and adventurer - (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=14892722&postcount=5)
The quiet is punctuated by a loud sigh as a tall and skinny wizard contemplates the bowl of gruel in front of him, pushing around some unidentifiably lumpy bits with his knife. A wispy moustache and stubble cover his face in a desperate attempt to grow a serious man's beard, and his woolen travelling robes are covered in mud and old food stains. "I wish it was..." he ponders for a moment, "three days ago. Then, you know, we could save that woman again and someone might have actually been glad to see me, Wismire the Mighty, for once. Of course, you know, that didn't last very long, but hey - it was something, at least."

He sighs again, and attempts to offer some of the slop on his plate to the owl drooping on his shoulder. The owl, an animal used to eating large raw mice and other similarly distasteful things, declines. "C'mon, eat up Mr. Pickles! What you don't know won't hurt you, and I haven't the faintest what this could be," he cajoles half-heartedly.

[Irish Musician]

Dain Gulhelm (https://docs.google.com/document/d/18BDE37uX1tFjEnw-E1vqqIRD2OQvUEV-0JrSlLxBcDg/edit?usp=sharing), Sergent in the Order of the Bearded Guard
Dain sat there, not much in the mood for fighting, or even chasing after dwarven maidens, as was his usual activity after a mission. Dain didn't even have much motivation to drink the ale that was in front of him.....and mostly full. He hadn't eaten since they got back and he was about as depressed as he could be, or has ever been. He sat there as the wizard went on and on about the past and Dain rolled his eyes. The boy was always changing his name, trying to sound fancy.....made Dain usually laugh. But at the moment he just didn't care enough to say anything. Dain just sat there, spinning his ale with his finger, stirring it but not drinking it much.....

[sournote103]

Elorin sat near the edge of the tavern eating a meager meal. Taverns (and other such gatherings of people) were always interesting for one with the enhanced senses of a lycanthrope; he could better hear the murmurs of those around him, painting a better picture of what was going on in the town; he could smell the aromas of nearly all of the food in the tavern, and could sometimes pick up the scents of people while in human form, even if the only odors here were less than pleasant; and he could see the details of the scene around him with greater clarity than an ordinary human. Now if only there were anything of interest to pick out in the sensory array before him.

[Ridai]

Fargrim is sitting at the table, stiffly raising his mug to his mouth, pausing, sipping noisily, swallowing, lowering the mug, wiping a tear, saying "Sad." in a monotone, droning voice and an expressionless face. The display repeats continuously, every phase looking exactly the same and always taking exactly the same amount of time.

Until a human comes flying through the door, soaring through the air with the grace of a flailing person turned projectile, sliding across a table and crashing into the bar, sending mugs, beer and food flying. Dramatically appropiate, light shines through the door as all faces, food and beer splattered or not, turn to see. Through steps a pair that would be quite unusual everywhere but in this city. A dwarven male, proud, muscular, with a respectable beard sporting a newly and immaculately made engagement braid, and a female half-orc, tall, athletic and rather attractive*, wearing a dwarven-made ring on her finger.

"We're getting married!" they joyously shout in unison, followed by everyone cheering loudly. As the cheers become a bit more quiet, they follow up, raising their fists into the air. "BAR FIGHT!" followed by an even louder cheer and the couple slamming their fists into the faces nearest to them, sending two patrons spinning backwards. Immediately, the sadness is forgotten and replaced by a chaotic frenzy of brawling fun as almost all patrons jump up and begin to punch each other in the face, throw people around, drag them over tables or kick them over the railings on the two floors above the ground floor. Mugs fly everywhere or are used as makeshift weapons, people swing on ropes in the big open space in the middle of the tavern from which you can see up to the other floors. The bards get swept up in the general euphoria, starting to play appropiate music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXn8lDRhyX8) and having the time of their lives.

Caught in the middle of this bar-fighty goodness, you quickly scan the place to see who is close to you. Roughly three groups of patrons are punching each other and everything around them, moving across the room and shouting expletives and congratulations as they do so, slowly coming closer. In addition, a rather unhinged (dare I say cray-cray) looking, but rather happily giggling halfling is flying above the heads of most patrons with a cobbled together set of wings that looks like it has no right to actually function. The halfling catches mugs with his feet and bombards people with them or simple delivers a boot to the head in mid-flight. The biggest threat, however, is probably that rather big half-orc that has been drinking for three straight hours and pretty much consists of alcohol now. Slurrily shouting along with the song, he is flailing his arms like weapons, each hand grasping a halfling monk delivering strikes to anyone they come close to.

No one cares about preventing damage to the tavern, nor does the staff seem concerned, the barkeeper literally throwing drinks across the room as gold coins are snipped his way, the barmaid looking as pretty as ever and occasionally delivering a little smack if someone gets too close as she sits on the bar. After all, this tavern has been built by half-orcs and dwarves to not only symbolize their peace, but also as a way to settle their disputes, bets or whatever else, as they couldn't agree on anything but bar fights. Thus, the building has been infused with a tavern spirit upon construction, smiling down upon the patrons, healing their bruises at the end of the fight, preventing fatal wounds and putting the place back together for the next happening to, well, happen.

Well, time to meet the locals.

*It is a common misconception that all half-orcs are ugly wretches, one activists have been trying to get rid of. It has been theorized that half-orcs harbor latent magical energies that people who haven't been around half-orcs often need to get used to, as otherwise their view of half-orcs get distorted (elves are especially prone to this). This also would explain why half-orcs are viewed as so fearsome and intimidating past their physiology and why young children often run away from them while crying.

Time to fight! I'm sticking to group initiative, meaning everyone makes the usual initiative roll (a Dex check) and we compare the averages of the enemies and the group to determine who goes when. You can take your turn in any order once it is the group's turn. You can check if you hit with your attack rolls in the combat tracker linked in the OOC as well as input any damage you do.

As 5e is pretty freeform and the barfight is all kinds of chaotic, no map is needed here, just describe what you're doing and how you position yourselves. Currently, you are somewhat near the bar, in the space where you can look up to the other floors, with the described enemies within 10-15 feet of you. No one is in melee range yet.

Now, remember that you can modify your actions within reason if you want to do something special, like swing on a rope or whatever that makes things more fun. Propose what you want to do, write up your turn and I'll tell you what to roll against if needed to determine the outcome of that modification.

Also, everyone of you has 1gp. You can use these for some special free actions by giving it to specific NPCs. For example, you can order a mug from the barkeep to have him throw one your way (hopefully for you to dodge and slam into someone else) or move besides the bar and heal up with the special house brew, you can tip the barmaid to distract enemies, you can tip the bards to receive a buff etc. In short, whatever you can think of. Try it out, see what happens.


Enemy initiative 10.6

[Phrenologist]

- Wizard Wismire the Vengeful, ex-apprentice and adventurer - (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=14892722&postcount=5)

A full goblet of a particularly foul orcish brew strikes the wall directly above Wismire, soaking him from tip of pointy hat to toe in a revolting concoctions that can only be described as fermented foot fungus. Enraged, he stands up and slams his well-worn spellbook (that, luckily enough, escaped most if not all of the splatter) on the table and thumbs it to the appropriate page.

"Magicae Armaturam!" he intones in a voice that quivers in rage. A silver bubble of energy encases the wizard, resisting inwards physical momentum. With another cry of frustration, Wismire rolls up his voluminous sleeves and begins to stomp his way into the melee, determined to take out his ruined robes on whoever messes with Wismire the Vengeful!

Casts Mage Armor on self, making AC = 15

Sometimes, even when you have the power to manipulate the rules of the universe with your voice, you have to take revenge with your own two fists (or try to, at least).

[Irish Musician]

Dain Gulhelm (https://docs.google.com/document/d/18BDE37uX1tFjEnw-E1vqqIRD2OQvUEV-0JrSlLxBcDg/edit?usp=sharing), Sergent in the Order of the Bearded Guard
"HAHAHAAAAAA!!! A Fight!! FEAR THE BEARDS!!!!!" With that Dain jumped up and charged the nearest human.

Actions
Cast Bless - Swift, so I can take another action as well. Me and my allies get a +1 to attacks and save for 1 min. (concentration)
Melee Attack - Nearest person to me [roll0]
Damage - [roll1](drop the lowest roll) and +3 if my strength mod goes with that, not sure if it does in 5e. On a sucessful melee attack, I activate Dreadful Aspect. Those I choose w/in 10 ft of me are frightened for 1 min (Which in this case will be ANYONE within 10 ft of me), unless they make a Will save. And they can make a save at the end of each of their turns to save again. If I don't hit, this doesn't trigger.

[sournote103]

Elorin sighed at being forced into the middle of a fight. Nonetheless, it was probably in everyone's best interest to knock out at least a few of the more prolific rabble-rousers.

For the rest of the fight, all of my attacks are meant to knock people out (rather than kill them) until otherwise stated.

Going to move to the big half-orc and make a basic attack.

Attack- [roll0]
Damage- [roll1]

[Tegu8788]

Fargrim

A rare day, to find one as naturally peppy as Fargrim depressed. One would normally be described as a rather happy dwarf. A very happy dwarf, some may say. But after a day of seeing so much pain, misery, and general malaise, even the beaming dwarf was sullen. The sun could be hidden by the clouds, after all.

But as the bar fight breaks out, Fargrim's faith is reignited. The sunlight streaming in the bar, haloing the happy couple. By the great glory of that radiant sphere, Fargrim was going to celebrate! He jumped fell off his stool, and using his golden tipped quarterstaff he staggers into the fray.

Finding himself before the halfing wielding half-orc, Fargrim is overwhelmed by the brute's spirit in his revelry. "PRAISE BE!" the dwarf shouts, a brilliant beam of light echoing from his throat, shining upwards at the drunkards chest.

Initiative: [roll0], but it's moot, yes?
Lance of Faith with Dain's Bless against the half-orc, I want to try and either hit him in the chest and knock him back, or an elbow to make him drop a halfing [roll1] against Dexterity, doing [roll2] radiant damage.

Having caught up on things, somewhat, I'm wanted to make some changes. I'll keep the healing powers and sun loving nature, but switch to Arcanist from Lightbringer. If that's allowed, and no one objects, I'll be doing that tomorrow.

[Ridai]

Dain's warcry bellows across the tavern, answered by many voices, most of which so slurred that you can practically taste the alcohol with your ears. The small group of humans, half-elves momentarily stops flailing all around them as they realize that a dwarf-sized juggernaut is charging at them, their faces immediately looking like deer in the lights of an oncoming waggon as they scream like little girls. With a loud bang, Dain's strikes disperse the group like a cannonball, one young man soon hanging over one of the rafters, one stuck head first in a keg and another being sent sliding across a table, the elderly regulars who have been eating in peace, not bothered by all the brawling around them, nonchalantly raising their plates to let the poor fellow slide past and simply continue eating afterwards.

The two other groups of patrons stop and look at Dain and what he managed, making eye contact, then look back at Dain. The first group is looking awfully jittery as they become smaller and smaller while their knees are doing dance routines, their attempt at a ganged up attack on the dwarf ending with them planting their elbows, knees and fists into various body parts of the guy next to each of them, one fellow doubling over with a rather high pitched sound.

The other group is a little more reluctant and end up just... shoving one guy towards Dain, the young man's trajectory actually managing to surprise the dwarven warrior as an arm flailing for balance knocks him right in the chin. The young elf, realizing what he... "managed", actually looks at his fist, then at his "buddies", pointing at his fist and cheering before realizing he is still standing right in front of Dain. As quickly as he came, he immediately scurries back behind the others.

Say what you will about Wismire's arts of dubious quality (going by popular opinion), but he has the spells to protect his own hide down. So much that the crazy halfling inventor, as he approaches to kick the mage in the head from the air, actually takes a moment to study the motions and spell... only to promptly crashland right next to Wismire, a miniature explosion coming out of his wing-device. He seems perfectly fine, though, apparently rather explosion-proof and used to crashlandings.

Elorin's assault is rather fruitful, coming as quick as a crashing wave as he flies in a straight horizontal line through the air to kick the half-orc right in the chest, masterfully having found the opening in the drunken brawler's defense. As the kick connects, everything almost seems to stop for a moment as the sound reverberates through the tavern, followed by a beer-stained shockwave. Immediately following up, Fargrim's smile shines so brightly it hurts, the halfling-wielder getting a faceful of sun that makes him flail the equally squinting (and slightly panicky shouting) halfling monks around, although he now enjoys a rather nice tan.

The group's monk, trained as he is, sees the attack coming, parrying the oncoming halfling perfectly with the back of his fist, creating another astounding moment. Stumbling around, the other halfling monk actually manages to hit Fargrim on the head while wildly moving his arms around to avoid hitting something overly hard.

Suddenly, there is a loud thud. As you turn to see what is going on, you literally see a big ball of wrestling and brawling patrons drop down from another floor, starting to roll your way as more patrons get rolled up. (Dexterity DC 8 check to avoid taking 4 damage from getting hit by a tavern katamari. The ball takes up no space during your turns, but you can still try to affect it with your action if you want)
Half-orc with double-halflings failed his save (which was DC 14, due to 10 + 3 from Fargrim's Wis + 1 from his spellcasting bonus) and took sunshine to the face.

Half-orc attacks Elorin (11), then Fargrim (18), dealing a piddly 4 nonlethal damage to the latter.

Patron group 2 and 3 gang up on Dain.
Number 2 flails wildly and actually manages some decent hits (23), dealing... 3 nonlethal damage (high roll, believe it or not).

Number 3 flails much more jittery-like (rolling 15 and a natural 1, taking the latter due to disadvantage from fear), actually managing to deal 2 nonlethal damage to themselves. However, their elbows to their own faces help them shake off their dwarven inspired fear with a Wisdom roll of 19.

Mr. Crazytown halfling swoops by and tries to kick Wismire in the magical noggin'. Actually rolls a natural 1 and crashlands, falling prone beside Wismire.

(Note: Normally, enemies just miss when they roll natural 1s. However, in this scene, well, strange things happen)

[Phrenologist]

With split-second timing Wismire manages to flatten up against the bar in time for the brawl to be diverted just past his frail bones due to the outwards push of his magicae armaturam. He is, however, knocked slightly by a flailing fist to the left kidney which causes him to splutter in the last syllable of his next spell, causing the flames which spray from his outstretched arms towards the not-quite-flying halfling inventor and the offending ball of combatants to be a weak and sickly purple.

Dexterity Check:[roll0] - success!

Burning Hands damage: [roll1], DC 15 dex for half - not so great a roll :smallfrown:

[Ridai]

Round 2 - Player phase

Wismire's skill at saving his skin saves his skin once again. The halfling definitely isn't fireproof as the flames still scorch him, ending up looking charcoal-black, with a black puff of smoke escaping his mouth as he blinks in confusion. The big ball of bar-brawlers is caught in the flames too. Out of the corner of his eye, Wismire can see the barkeep pull the barmaid behind the bar and take cover himself. There is something Wismire did not factor in. Namely the sheer concentration of alcohol and belches at the core of the ball.

With a resounding BOOM! that makes it feel like the whole tavern just jumped a few inches, the ball of patrons explodes with a beer-colored flash, patrons getting launched into every direction like shrapnel as the standing patrons dive for cover. Several flying towards the bards get repelled by an impromptu wall of sound created by their instruments, flying patrons collide with other ones, get launched through the windows, into tables. Somewhere in the back an old, frail looking man with a long white beard suddenly jumps up after being startled by the explosion, only to knock another patron right out of the air with his cane ("You young whippersnappers!"). One particularly unlucky fellow gets launched right through the roof, making a rather peculiar sound (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwBWavjfu4w).

A gnome slams into the half-orc berserker's head and bounces off like a pinball, the big drunken brute stumbling about, almost miraculously remaining standing, although it seems like he is about to tip over. The halfling gets winged and has his charcoal-coat knocked right off, but he remains standing conscious. The groups of patrons get completely buried under other patrons or launched themselves, one young man landing rather softly though - face first in the bountiful bosom of a half-giant lady who first gives a frightened yelp, but then, after they make eye contact, shily blushes, marking the beginning of another future happy couple that found each other in a Battlekeg Tavern brawl.

The halfling failed his save, takes the full 8 damage.

The big ball... rolled a natural 1 (yes, seriously!). Thus, due to the high density of alcohol and belches within it, it explodes.

Everyone who still needs to make the Dex check, the DC has been raised to 10. 4 damage on failure, 2 if you succeed. This includes the enemies.
Orc failed.
Halfling succeeded.
Patron group 2 failed.
Patron group 3 is screwed anyway.

Only the halfling remains. The orc is technically knocked out, but will remain standing and active until the end of this next turn.
(Tegu, sour, Irish, you're up)

[Phrenologist]

Wismire, trapped between the bar and the unexpected combustion, is unable to dodge the worst of the blast and his eyebrows are singed off. He flails wildly at his now-burning robes, extremely concerned that some of the stains might in fact be extremely flammable.

Dex check: [roll0]

[Irish Musician]

Dain Gulhelm (https://docs.google.com/document/d/18BDE37uX1tFjEnw-E1vqqIRD2OQvUEV-0JrSlLxBcDg/edit?usp=sharing), Sergent in the Order of the Bearded Guard
Dain looks around him at the group, and picks the nearest (poor) target to him, and wings his axe, "FEEL THE POWER OF THE BEARDS YOU BASTARDS!!!!!", laughing all the while he is swinging his axe. He then orders a whiskey from the bartender, "SOME OF YOUR MOST FLAMMABLE WHISKEY BARKEEP!!!", and holds his hand out to catch it!

Nearest Target to him: [roll0]
Damage - [rollv]3d6+4[/rolv], and drop the lowest roll

Spending my 1g - I want to catch a bottle of whiskey from the bartender, the most flammable and potent stuff, and use it next round :smallamused:

[Tegu8788]

Fargrim

Feeling a tinge of heat, he turns, and watches as a giant ball of flames erupts in the middle of the room. With joy in his voice, he shouts to the nearest person, a that short but agile man. "THE WEDDING IS BLEST! REJOICE! MY MIGHT LORD SHINES HIS FAVOR UPON YOUR UNION!" With such excitement in his voice, he shouts out another burst of light. He coughs heavily, using his staff to keep him from falling over.

Lance of Faith the monk [roll0] for [roll1] radiant damage if he doesn't save.

[Ridai]

As the blast happens, Wismire takes quite the beating, but not in the form he expected (sure, there are the flames, though). Rather, he serves as the cushion for a halfling girl that gets launched out of the ball of patrons. Taking a breather, checking herself, she sighs in relief. "Phew, lucky me. Oh! Heya, I'm-" But her upbeat introduction falls on deaf ears belonging to a wizard flailing as he runs around on fire, his little owl bouncing up and down on his hat to put out a small flame there. As he passes by the bar again, Wismire takes a sudden bath, drenched with a bucket of water, flames gone. Standing on a barstool is the halfling girl, smiling sweetly, bucket still in hand, as upbeat as before. "Heya, I'm Ila, thanks for catching me." Having a moment to actually look at her, the girl (or rather, young woman) is actually rather pretty, brunette hair currently in a shoulder-length mess. Despite being smaller than him, however, Ila and her low-cut dress do make poor Wismire blush a little (or a little more). "What's your name?"

Elsewhere, the barely standing half-orc gets another facefull of soon, suddenly stiffening up, belching and falling over. Fargrim's radiant joy is kept spreading as Elorin keeps posing dramatically.

After taking care of the crazy halfling (suddenly learning how to fly, for a short while, thanks to the Axe Express), Dain turns around to see a scene he will remember for a long time. He sees the soon to be married couple duking it out with someone. Someone his height, if a little bit taller, every move filled with legendary power and grace. The couple soon goes down, but they don't seem to mind in the very least. Framed in pure light, Dain recognizes that undeniable presence, that perfect combat style, those glorious red braids, that stunning beauty. Karya Dawnhammer, highest paragon to all dwarvenkind, a living legend in the lands far and wide. And also Dain's childhood friend, a year his elder. Seeing her again is like a dream sequence to Dain. He doesn't even notice the bottle of whiskey colliding with his head, spinning into the air afterwards.

Helping the couple up, Karya exchanges a few words with them, all three all genuine smiles. You all watch as the patrons heal, the bar puts itself back together (and the guy that went skywards falling back inside and into a conveniently placed open keg of beer). All eyes turn to the paragon, wordlessly drawing everyone's attention. "This has been one of the most memorable occasions that has ever graced this fine meeting place. It makes me proud to see that all of you come together here like you do, it makes me proud that you proved that the peace and understanding we have built here is lasting, it makes me proud that you made this beautiful couple's engagement such a day to remember." Applause roars up for a moment, many new mugs getting raised, the half-orc woman having to wipe away a tear of joy.

"Furthermore, I would like to present to you the ones that singlehandedly turned this great fight into an unforgettable one, wild and passionate as it should be. Step up, let the people see the men of the day." Standing upon the large table, Karya extends her hand in invitation. Towards the four of you. All eyes turn to you in awe as you walk past them, stepping up onto the table. "Above all, you carried the spirit of what this place means to all of us and through you, we can see the bright, harmonious future we have forged together. People, welcome the champions of the Battlekeg Tavern!"

Deafening roars and applause well up and last for a long time as the crowd celebrates you from all three floors. The couple shakes your hands and hugs each of you, thanking you with tears in their eyes, also inviting you to their wedding as guests of honor. Down in the crowd, Wismire can see Ila cheering joyfully for her personal hero of the day.

"Come on, I think a few words to your adoring fans are in order. Afterwards, come see me in the back room. Don't worry, the party will be going on all night, I won't hold you up for long," Karya quietly tells the four of you, her presence positively awe-inspiring, her smile unbelievably beautiful. She adds a little friendly wink towards Dain and then steps down from the table, making her way to the back room, letting the crowd concentrate on the group.

The group has made a young couple's engagement one of the best moments of their lives and become the champions of the Battlekeg Tavern, symbols of the peace between dwarves and half-orcs, and by extension all races.

Level up!

Everyone is healed to full, everything is recharged.

Feel free to level up to level 2 in the OOC (do remember to increase your HP by the number in the parenthesises by your classes' hit die) and direct a few words to the crowd IC or add to the celebrations as desired.

[Irish Musician]

Dain Gulhelm (https://docs.google.com/document/d/18BDE37uX1tFjEnw-E1vqqIRD2OQvUEV-0JrSlLxBcDg/edit?usp=sharing), Sergent in the Order of the Bearded Guard
Dain, not even noticing the pain of the whiskey bottle that crashed into his head, doesn't miss a movement of the awe-inspiring Karya. He has known her for many years and they are dear, dear friends, but even since he learned that girls were great and didn't have dragon-warts, Dain had been attracted to her. And who can blame him, she was the epitome of what he longer for a in a dwarven woman. Dain wasn't really one to settle down, but if he did it would be with her. Finding himself watching her go, for he did love to, he also realized where he was standing. With his comrades, in front of everyone.....everyone who was waiting for them to talk.

Filled with inspiration from Karya, he began, "People of the great Battlekeg Tavern, ever since our peoples founded this tavern to settle our differences, we have known a great peace between us, especially the mighty orcs and the great dwarves. Both of our peoples are battle-hungry, so we did what we thought was right....made a sanctuary where we could settle our differences, and celebrate our joys, all together in the way we know how. By getting drunk and FIGHTING!!" Dain raises the whiskey bottle he had picked up and was greeted with cheers and toasts. Waiting for it to die down, he began again, "I am deeply honored and humbled to be a champion of the Battlekeg Tavern and that we could have given such honor to the newly married couple here by making this night unforgettable. On behalf of my kind, and the Beards, I wish you all the blessings of Moradin and the dwarven gods.....and any orcish gods you may want blessings from.... and that you may live a long, happy life together. To the couple!!!!" Dain raises his bottle again, and again is met with cheers and saultes to the couple. With the focus back on them, he steps off the table and goes back into the back room, following Karya.

[Tegu8788]

Fargrim

Tears in his eyes, Fargrim is overjoyed at the sheer beauty of the happy couple, and the vigor of the brawling tavern guests. But that pales in comparison to his happiness at seeing Karya Dawnhammer. Thought the tears in his eyes are perhaps more due to his reaction to so much divine spellcasting, his grin in none the less genuine. He claps his fellow champion's hardily on their backs, before stomping his staff against the ground, the yellow orb atop it glowing with brilliant light, as he says simply, "AMEN!"

[Phrenologist]

Wismire manages what passes for a beaming smile at the little halfling lady, bringing all of his slimy charm to bear despite his sodden hat and singed eyebrows. "Wismire's the name, and winnin' the hearts of beautiful young ladies like you is mah game," he drawls in a southern accent that he hopes is more suave than creepy; the accompanying unsubtle wink probably doesn't help.

As Karya's speech draws both of their attentions, Wismire reaches up and removes his pointy hat. With loving care, he wrings the poor battered and singed hat before slicking back his hair and gingerly replacing the hat back where it belongs. "I'll be right back, doll, doncha move a muscle. Bartender, a drink for the little lady as she waits!" Wismire flicks his gold coin to the barman as he follows the rest of the group up on to the table..

The view from up high is impressive, although it doesn't help the difference between Wismire and Ila's height. It does however, allow very well for a display of cheering things like "Go me!" and "Wismire's the champ, baby!", as well as theatric displays of light and sparks as a result of muttering "Parva Illusio" under his breath.

For one such as Wismire, today has the makings of a good day, despite the rather gloomy beginning. For example, not only has he apparently won something (for once!), but he also has not one but two beautiful ladies (by the standards if their own race) paying particular attention to him. He hopes that perhaps one day there might be a beautiful human lady waiting for him, but until then, you know, beggars can never be choosers.

Eventually, he gets down off the table and follows Karya and Dain into the back room.

Casting minor illusion a few times because I can.

[sournote103]

Elorin did what he could to avoid the attention of the crowd (mostly by distracting them by pointing out others who had played a significant role in the brawl) as he stepped into the back room.

[Ridai]

Ila giggles heartily at Wismire's antics. Sadly, it isn't quite that charmed giggle one step away from swooning in his "manly" arms. Rather, it's the kind of wanting to pinch Wismire's cheeks like those of a funny little leprechaun. The barkeep just stands there, polishing a glass, his eyebrow firmly raised as he catches the coin. "Sssure..."

The crowd enthusiastically reacts to the group's words and gestures, roaring applause for Dain and Fargrim, hearty laughter for Wismire (and clapping for the illusions, as well as requests), the respect for Wismire rather being mercilessly directed onto Elorin, making him squirm in his skin.

The backroom is pretty luxurious, all in all, a table with a map in the center surrounded by comfortable armchairs, as well as a lit fireplace giving the room a cozy temperature. As the group files into the room, Karya greets them with her radiant smile. "Please, take a seat, we have much to discuss." She remains standing at the table, patiently waiting for everyone to be seated. "After that display, I am happy to see I chose wisely. Even though this was just a barfight, I saw skill" She glances at Dain, Fargrim and Elorin. "and potential." A look towards Wismire.

In a short moment of silence, Karya's smile fades, as if remembering a heavy burden, her face serious, determined. She hasn't called the heroes to her for laughing matters. "These lands have enjoyed peace for many decades. There have been quarrels here and there, but overall, it has been a blessed time. But we are reaching the end of an era. And with it, a period of turmoil and chaos. At the beginning of time as we know it, this world has been forged from nothingness, the gods granting us life. But their work is not eternal and ultimately, they can only ensure existance for a time. At the end of each era, the powers of the gods reach their limit, channeling it into a few chosen mortals to stand against the Void, the incarnation of the forces seeking to return us into nothingness. Each time, these heroes have defeated the Void, taking the place of the gods and continuing their work, the former deities living on within them. But each time has been harder than the last." This might sound ridiculous coming from anyone else, but this is Karya, one of the most powerful individuals in this world.

"When I was barely more than a child, I was chosen to take up my sword against the Void when the time comes, to stand my ground and stare pure annihilation in it's eye. It may only be weeks from now, perhaps a few months, but it will happen. But there is a problem. By now, my sword sisters should have arrived so we can prepare together, to face this evil, but I have not heard from them. Either they are being held up by truly grave concerns or somehow, someone or something managed to prevent them from coming to me or even contacting me. And I would like to ask you to find them."

Karya's smile returns, although more melancholic and understanding as all the information sinks in. "I know, it must sound overwhelming. Scary even. I would go myself, but time is short and I might not find them in time. Without all my swordsisters, I stand no chance, the powers of Creation scattered, weak. Thus I must go to the Worldforge, prolong this era as much as I can, while others go on this quest to find my swordsisters. And I want you all to be the ones to find them. You might feel doubts, even with your achievements of your lives, or perhaps lack thereof." Wismire's stomach drops. "But I know the power, the will within all of you, even if you do not realize it yet yourselves. I have faith that, with your help, this world can be saved. Will you lend me your strength so that our children will see a bright new era?"

Karya looks to all of you, her faith unshakable. A monumental task ahead of you. Suddenly, those tales of epic heroes, they feel even further away than usual when one is standing in front of such responsibility. The dwarven paragon lets each of you consider as long as you want, patiently awaiting your answers.

[Irish Musician]

Dain Gulhelm (https://docs.google.com/document/d/18BDE37uX1tFjEnw-E1vqqIRD2OQvUEV-0JrSlLxBcDg/edit?usp=sharing), Sergent in the Order of the Bearded Guard
After hearing Karya's story and plea, Dain takes no time what-so-ever to answer her, "Fear?!! BAH! I feel no fear, even in the face of the end of me life. I can think of no better reason to to go charging into battle, even if me life be forfeit, than to help the lovely and passionate Kayra. The gods saw fit to bless me with power, which in turn lead me to be one of the Beards, so what better use of it than to fine these lasses. Let it never be said that the one of the Beards ever turned from a challenge!!!" With that, Dain lifts his whiskey bottle and toats Karya, taking a large swig.

[Tegu8788]

Fargrim

Listening to what Karya said, the normally happy dwarf begins to grow angry. Despite who she was, speaking that way of the Gods was blasphemous! As his frustrations boiled, he looked at the golden orb on his tall staff, and noted that it no longer reflected light they way it once had. No matter how much he polished it, it just wasn't as shiny as it once had been. And the more he thought, the more he realized that the Sun had begun to grow dimmer every day. He had refused to accept it, or believed it to be just a phase, but in truth, he had known something was wrong for a while now. And Karya's words gave him the strength to finally admit it to himself. Tears in his eyes, he grips his staff firmly. Eyes to the floor, he speaks shakily. "It is true, this is the end. But if this is to be the Great Globe's final command, I will face any danger set before you. In these times of darkness, I will be LIGHT!"

With his last word, he stomps his staff hard against the ground, the tiny replica of his God emits a bright, soft, illuminating glow, filling the room with a yellowy glow, abolishing all shadows from the room.

[sournote103]

Elorin hesitated before speaking, though not so much out of apprehension to help as apprehension to involve himself with others as much as it seemed that this would require.
After this brief moment of hesitation, he said, "I will gladly aid in whatever way I can."