IC: Galvin's Forgotten Realms 3.5e

[Galvin]

"... Come, one and all, to the the grand Deadsnows Shieldmeet Festival! Two day of feasting, fighting, drinking, hunting and dancing, boasting a Mage's Fair, and Archery Competition, a grand Melee, a hunt, and so much more! Located outside of Deadsnows in the Silver Marches, several miles along the Deadsnows Track, at the edge of the wood. Held on Shieldmeet, 1272 DR, and Midsummer's Night the day before ..."

Deadsnows Track, several miles outside of the town of Deadsnows
Sundown
Two days before Shieldmeet, 1372 DR

The sun is almost all the way down behind the distant mountains to the west, and the gentle cloak of night has almost gained hold on the well-beaten track currently home to dozens of weary travelers, all trudging forwards towards Deadsnows, to stay the night before festivities start on Midsummer's Night.

The last slivers of sunlight are setting beyond the horizon when you lay eyes on the Hospice of Marthammor Duin, an abbey dedicated to the dwarven deity, here, some of the more weary travelers stay, trading silver coins for a place on the floor, while others still press on the remaining two miles to find more comfortable and private accommodations in the town proper, and the inns of Deadsnows.

As you wearily approach the Hospice, surrounded by other strangers, you are faced with the choice of staying here of pressing on for the comforts of town. Will you approach the abbey or continue down Deadsnows Track?

[Heavensfury]

Kieryian stops for a quick stretch, feeling invigorated by the open, if a bit crowded, road. He had been planning on taking a trip for some time, and now that he's finally left the confines of Silverymoon, he can't help but wonder why he waited so long. He smiles as he sees a small company of humans trudge in exhaustion towards the hospice, one loudly proclaiming that he'd be lucky to finish half a beer before making a pillow of his meal. Knowing something of the humans' appetites, Kieryian privately suspected their night will pass with rather more drinking than sleeping. Then again, slumber was not like Reverie, and they may very well end up "sleeping in their cups", as the saying went...though he may be misunderstanding that particular expression.

Still, the eve was young yet, especially for an elf, and Kieryian was unafraid of a darkening sky stealing the sight from his mismatched eyes. With all Faerun spread before him, and a song in his heart, he strides lightly forward, passing the hospice and continuing onward down Deadsnows Track. With all the traffic diverting to the abbey, the road ahead promised to be a bit less populous, giving him more freedom to enjoy the sights and sounds of the countryside. Humming a melody that had just come to popularity when he had left Evermeet, Kieryian continues merrily down the road.

[Galvin]

About an hour into the night, the moon has climbed higher into the sky, and Kieryian has arrived at the gates of Deadsnows. A pair of gate guards stand at the gate, directing traffic and talking to the travelers. A line slowly forms, and soon Kieryian stands face-to-face with one of the guards. He's an older man, maybe in his early forties, with a long face covered with loose gray stubble, any traces of hair obscured by an open-faced helmet. At about six feet, the man stands a little taller than Kieryian. In his right hand he holds a torch, and strapped to his left arm is a shield, painted white, bearing a green pine tree emblem. He is clad in scale mail. "Traveler? Here for the Shieldmeet festival, I'd guess. That, or the gold. That's all anyone comes to Deadsnows for now-a-days anyway. Nothing left for us locals" Seeming to notice the elf for the first time. he says, "​Ah, sorry about that. Just the rantings of an old man. Now, do you have any questions? I bet you're looking for accommodations. Many of the Inns are filled up. You might try the Vandarhouse, but the old orc who runs it will rob you blind if you give her half a chance, or, if you're looking for something better, you might try the Rose and Hammer, a bit expensive, but you might find a spot in the stables or a place by the hearth there to sleep."

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan walks at a brisk pace along Deadsnows Track, his legs burning with a now-familiar but still much hated ache. His shoulders, too, hurt from carrying his heavy pack and all the rest of his gear.

Ever so often, he glances at the setting sun, and his heart sinks as the sun finally sets. His heart sinks even further as he spies the Hospice of Marthammor Duin. He trudges a bit more slowly, then shakes his head and walks even more quickly past the stone structure.

He darkly mutters, "Dwarven accommodations and cuisine, for me? Not bloody likely."

He just hopes the moon and stars are bright tonight. He doesn't fancy walking very far in the dangerous dark.

[DrK]

Grifnir

Hob nailed boots crunched on the road as the wide dwarf marched down the road, weary after a day of walking but nearly at his destination. He stared at the axe in his hand as he walked, hopefully he could get some like minded folks to help him hunt down the orc at the shield meet.

Seeing the town still some distance and the hospice nearby he paused before stepping towards the abbey. Duin would welcome him this night and it would be nice to get some proper Dwarf fare than the insipid human fare that he'd been eating of late. Maybe the hospice would gave some stone bread?
Reaching the stout gate he bangs 3 times before shouting in dwarven ho. I am Grifnir Battlehelm of the Mithral Hall. I be liking a bed for the night? I can pay.

[WrathMage]

Ramas el Geldaneth

Warm, lambswool lined boots clad around his bare ankles, Ramas plodded on, heading ever northwards from Silverymoon towards the town of Deadsnows, having heard all about the Shieldmeet festival there and it reputation for drawing in folks from all around. Surely the frontier spirit would be just the kind to foster new inventions and new ideas? At least, that was how it seemed when Ramas had set off north. Now, with the sun vanishing beneath the horizon on what laughably passed for a warm summer's evening this far north, that idea didn't seem quite so inspired.

"Oh Thoth, Lord of KNowledge, why must you test your ever dedicated servant so?" Ramas muttered to himslef beneath his breath, before noticing a large, imposing structure coming into view... A dwarven abbey?

"Drafty floors, strong ale, and no chance of a fellow Mulan? Hmm I think I will pass" Ramas thought to himself, and onwards he pushed, hoping to make Deadsnows before midnight, so that he could rest his weary legs and find a warm cup of wine...

EDIT: Damned typos...

[Archdruid]

Gilaral

With each step leading her closer to Deadsnows, the wild-haired savage elf stifles a yawn, not of sleepiness, but of boredom. Looking down to pat the side of her faithful friend, she eyes the travelers closely, her elven nose seeking some signifier. What she seeks, she isn't sure, but knows she must look, in Rillifane's name. With a glower, the druidic huntress pulls her cloak of bear hides around her to keep the chill at bay, her toes curling in the soft well-trod dirt between each step, feeling the land for the weal of its life-giving magic, where in some places, it was weaker, in others it nearly burned, regardless of the clout of weather. Only two days remain until Midsummer's Night, Gilaral thinks to herself, the thought of how long her journey has been fresh on her mind as each footstep brings her closer to Marthammor Duin. Spotting the dwarven travelers, the elf wrinkles her nose and turns her path northward, pressing on to Deadsnows. Sleep in dwarven accommodations? I have no need of stone walls nor the stench it brings. With a sigh, Gilaral clicks her tongue and looks to Rondo, speaking to him in elfish {Hut-hut, we leave this herd.}

[Heavensfury]

Kieryian smiles warmly towards the guard, lowering his hood in order to converse more comfortably. "Thank you, saer, I would certainly welcome any advice you could give me on finding housing for the night." Listening intently to the guard's suggestions, he chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "Could you please direct me to both? I certainly wouldn't want to be taken advantage of by a crafty innkeeper, but taking my chances with her would beat resting on the streets if the Rose and Hammer in unable to accomodate me."

[Galvin]

Athelstan arrives at the gates of Deadsnows about an hour later. Two guards stand watch over the open gate, admitting travelers after brief conversations. The guards wear scale mail, with torches in one hand and shield bearing the emblem of Deadsnows, a green pine tree on a field of white, strapped to their arms. One approaches Athelstan, speaking. "Ho, there. You a traveler? Here for the festival, or the gold? Or both? Wouldn't put it past you. Most of the inns in town are clogged up, but Rose over at the Rose and Hammer might let you sleep on the floor, or you could go on over to the Vandarhouse, but I'd advise against it if you wanna keep whatever valuables you might have."



Grifnir's pounding is answered by a middle-aged looking dwarf woman, shorter, with brown hair down to her collar. She looks up at Grifnir. A traveler? And a fellow dwarf? Come in, come in. Accommodations are three pieces of silver for the night, including a meal. Oh, and I am Kerrilla, by the way, the Observer of this abbey. Come, my Friars will take your things and show you to the table. The fare is plain, served with a mug of dark beer, but enough to fill your stomach after a long march.



Pressing on, Ramas reaches the gates of Deadsnows about an hour and a half later. The guards at the gate greet Ramas with little enthusiasm. They just keep coming, don't they? The other replies, Aye, a lot of 'em. Now, traveler, what do you want? Here for the festival, I'd guess? The man is older, looking near retirement, maybe mid-fifties. Old for a guard. He wears scailmail, and is holding a torch. His shield bears the crest of Deadsnows, a green pine on a white field.



The guards at the gates of Deadsnows, coming into view about an hour later, hoot as they see Gilaral approach. What's this, an elf? And with a little doggy, too? Our visitors just keep getting queerer and queerer, now don't they? After a laugh, the man straightens and looks Gilaral in the eye, Here for the festival, I'd guess? Looking to stay in town?



The guards give Kieryian directions to both the Vandarhouse and the Rose and Hammer, and send him on his way. The streets of Deadsnows are slightly crowded with travelers looking for a place to sleep. All the locals are indoors, and the prospectors and freebooters are all inhabiting the infamous tent city, Snowtown, outside the gates. The Vandarhouse is rundown barn-and-tent building beyond the Snowtown, while the Rose and Hammer lies inside the walls,a little ways away.

[DrK]

Grifnir smiles as the food and beer arrive. Thank ye mightily Sister. Its been many nights since I had good dwarven fare. Do you have a shrine to the all father or the silver bead here, its been a while since I was at temple?


Sitting with axe, shield and backpack beside him he looks for any other travellers. What be this Shield meet? I ken what a dwarf shieldmery be but want to know what to expect tomorrow?

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan moans with relief as he reaches the gates without getting robbed by bandits or eaten by wild beasts.

He frowns in irritation as the guard explains how most of the inns in the small town are full. He really should have not dawdled so on the road. But then his sharp ears catch an interesting hint.

In an ingenuous manner, he says, "Are the prices at the Vandarhouse really that high?"

[Heavensfury]

Kieryian sets off towards the Rose and Hammer, deciding that if they had no available space, or demanded prices that were too outrageous, he would just have to try his luck at the Vandarhouse. He had to admit to himself, he was a little curious about the disposition of an orc hostess...

[Earl of Purple]

Khoryn Axehaft

Khoryn Axehaft strides boldly along the road, briefly wishing he'd invested in a donkey at the last town. But then he'd need to buy a saddle, and reins, and fodder... No, he's better off using the two legs the Mordinsamman gave him. He sees the abbey ahead and smiles, they'd give him a place to stay. He strides over and knocks briskly upon the abbey's door. "Hoy, the Abbey! A tired wanderer seeks rest!"

[Galvin]

Wha...? No, you daft fool, they're cheaper than rotten orc cheese, the inn keep will rob you blind as you sleep. Even the prospectors keep away from her, they robbed some of their kind blind a couple months back. The guard shakes his head, Look, the Vandarhouse is outside the city gates, the big barn beyond Snowtown, you can't miss it. The Rose and Hammer is further inside the city, I'll give you directions.



The Rose and Hammer opens up into a warmly lit, cozy common room. Men and women of all races occupy the tables and bar stools, drinking a talking of the rumors of gold and the festival to come. The bar is tended by an older woman, wearing a red dress, while a man, presumably her husband, serves drinks. The man is older as well, and by his scars is some retired warrior of sorts. The woman calls you over as you enter. Ho there! You a traveler? Want a room? Drink? Well, we've got one room open, a bit shoddy, more of a crawlspace than a proper room, truth be told, but it may very well be the only room in town left, be five gold for the night, if you're interested. Comes with a meal.





A robed dwarf man comes to the door to greet you, his face is cloaked in a well-groomed auburn beard, he is about average height, for a dwarf, though he bears a scar running down the bridge of his nose, to the left, ending about an inch above his lip.Welcome to the Hospice. Here for the festivities, then, kinsman? You from Citadel Felbarr? If you want to stay the night, we'll feed ye and give ye a place on the floor for three pieces of silver.

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan says, in what he hopes is a gormless way, "Ooh. Yeah, I don't like the sound of that. Thank you for warning me; I'll go to the Rose and Hammer."

He carefully listens to the directions, and then tips his hat to the guards and makes his way to the R & H. Once out of sight of the guards, he shudders at his narrow escape.

"A big barn -outside- the walls? Ye gods, these rustic thieves give new meaning to the term 'country mouse'." Athelstan shakes his head in dismay.

[Heavensfury]

"My thanks, goodwoman, a room for the night would be most welcome. Could I also perhaps avail you for some tea? It is my habit when in civilized surroundings to relax over a hot cup of tea before seeking Reverie." Fishing in his belt pouch, Kieryian produces the requested five gold pieces, as well as a few silver for the aforementioned tea, before confirming the location of his "crawlspace", then seeking a quite corner near the door in which to unwind.

[WrathMage]

"Ah, so there are many arriving so late, good sir? And yes indeed, I am here for the festival, I have travelled a long way to see this held in Deadsnows" Ramas replied enthusiastically to the two guards, despite his road weary limbs and aching back. As he spoke, he cast his eyes around the defenses of the town, realising the newness of so much here compared to the ancient stone of home...

"If you would be so kind as to point me towards a suitable establishment where I could rest and get some warm wine then I would be most appreciative"

[Earl of Purple]

Khoryn Axehaft

"Not deliberately, but aye. No, not from Citadel Felbarr. My family were wandering merchants, and I was born in a small town called Beregost on the Sword's Coast. Three silver? Aye." Khoryn nods and reaches into a belt pouch and taking out three silver coins and handing them over. He's expecting it to be busy, if there's enough wandering dwarves in the region to finance an abbey to The Watchful Eye, especially this close to the Shieldmeet, the faith's principle holiday.

[DrK]

Grifnir looks up as another dwarf arrives to the abbey. Standing he nods and waves, Welcome. I am Grifnir of Mithral Hall. How fares you?
Sliding his bag and axe down the table to make space he proffers the newcomer (Khoryn) a seat.

[Earl of Purple]

Khoryn Axehaft

"I am well, thank you! How are you?" Khoryn will go over to the other dwarf and sling his bag and Urgrosh down nearby. His accent is not a local one; he originally comes from further West, along the Sword Coast south of Waterdeep.

[DrK]

Grifnir nods topping up a tankard of ale for the new arrival. I am tired. The road was long and boring without even the decency of a bandit to liven it up. What brings you to Deadsnow?

He sips more ale, eyes staring at the well made urgosh.

[Earl of Purple]

Khoryn Axehaft, now in Purple

"My feet. Both literally and figuratively. I'm a wanderer, spending my days travelling. How about you?" The urgrosh isn't masterwork, but it's not poor quality by any means. Khoryn doesn't notice Grifnir's gaze, and chugs the ale willingly.

[Galvin]

The Rose and Hammer is especially crowded tonight. A red-haired woman tends the bar while a brutish, scarred man waits tables. They both seem busy as you approach, to busy to offer any sort of greeting. The patrons of this inn all seem to be out-of-towners. You presume many are here for the festival, and others still for the gold rush.




The guards direct you to two establishments: One, a seedier, low classs in outside of the city proper, beyond the gates, and another, well-established inn called the Rose and Hammer inside the town walls. A word of warning, though. The Rose and Hammer gets pretty crowded in high traffic times like these, being the only fine inn in town, it might be full up, though sleeping on the floor is better than the Vandarhouse. The old in keep will rob you blind.



You setting in the corner. A little while later, a well-travled human enters the inn. He looks visibly tired and looks around for a moment, before heading towards the bar.





The dwarf woman, the Observer Kerilla, comes over and sits at the head of the table, while you sit at her left and right hands. She speaks, addressing you. So two fellow dwarves, here for the festivities? Did you know that the celebration is in part being funded and put on by our humble abbey, as way as to share our faith with the community? I'm surprised to see so many outlanders come to visit. Many of the dwarf-folk who worship Marthammor in Felbarr of Adbar have come, along with some of the taller folk from as far as Sundabar or Silverymoon. It's astonishing, really.

[WrathMage]

"Ah, blessings in the name of Thoth good sirs, the Rose and Hammer it is then! I am uised to the hardship of sleeping on floors, and the floor of a fine inn certainly beats the cells of a Thayan Tharch! "

With that Ramas offers a small blessing in the name of Thoth to the guards and proceeds through the gate to find the Rose and Hammer, hoping to find enough room to rest his head and if he is lucky, a goblet of warmed wine. Spced wine was probably too much to ask this far from the Unapproachable east...

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan is a reasonably good-looking young man, well groomed and hygienic, in warm clothes and brown leather armor. He has a really nice rapier at his side, a gentleman's weapon, or a fop's.

He looks worse for wear now, though, because he has been walking all day and he never exercised much before leaving home. He takes off his hat, revealing wind-mussed hair. With every step, he winces from the aches in his legs and feet.

"Mulled wine, barkeep, hot as you can make it. I'm exhausted."

Athelstan looks around, taking in the sights and nodding in a friendly fashion to those around him.

[DrK]

Looking at the newcomer he nods. Are you here for the shieldmeet? Have you seen any sign if the orc on your travel? Particularly an albino one?

As the lady speaks he nods. Aye lady. Looking for info on the Orcs. What's this shield meet all about?

[Earl of Purple]

"No, but I'll be staying for it. No, no signs of orcs. And it's Shieldmeet. There's only one thing it's about- getting drunk and having fun. Wish I had some spare boots to burn, but these ones still have months of wear still in them." Then the dwarf lady speaks. "Some of Mathammor's folk have traveled much further than that, though I did not know of this establishment when I departed Baldur's Gate." Khoryn takes another swig of his ale.

[Heavensfury]

Taking an appreciative whiff of the aromatic tea, Kieryian takes another quick look around the room, returning the stiff stranger's nod with a half-hearted smile. Digging though his pack, he pulls a spare scrap of parchment on which he's spent the last few evenings playing with arcane formula. Placing it on the table before him, he stares at it pensively, looking up only occasionally to take in his surroundings and enjoy another sip of tea.

[Galvin]

The Rose and Hammer is very crowded and very hectic tonight, crowded with humans, dwarves, halflings, and one or two elves. The bar is tended by a red-headed woman and the tables are being waited by an older, scarred man with a warrior's look.





Mulled wine. Very good, sir. I'm Rose, by the way, and my husband over there is Hammer. Rose and Hammer, eh? You looking for room? That elf in the corner just rented out of last, but for a few gold we can get you a space by the fire to lay down and as many blankets as you can handle. What do you say?





Orcs? We have happened to have heard about some increased orc movement in the area, a band of them came down from the mountains and burned a few farmsteads about a dozen miles down the mountain, but when Lady Icespear seant men after them, they melted back into the hills. But I wouldn't stake much on it, this is the North, after all, and we're on the edge of the Nether Mountains and the Spine of the World is near, orcs aren't anything out of the ordinary. She pauses for a moment, and says: Shieldmeet? Well, it's a holiday, takes place every four years as a sort of leap day, almost every culture who holds the day in their calendar celebrate it in some fashion. And many religions also hold it to by significant, including mine. We're collaborating with the Lady Icespear in Deadsnows to hold a festival in my deities honor, to help bring some money into the village. Not that they need it, really. Many of the townsfolk have flourished after the gold rush. Couple months back, a hunter stumbled upon a huge gold deposit, and the outlanders just flocked to it.

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan is hard-pressed to maintain his polite smile upon hearing the exorbitant price the so-called Rose is setting for a place by the fire, plus blankets. Outrageous! Highway robbery! Athelstan is impressed by the woman's gall.

"Elf, you say?" He gives a theatrical double-take as he looks at the elf. "I think I know this elf. Excuse me, Mistress Rose; I must investigate my intuition."


Athelstan studies the elf for a few moments. No armor. Therefore...

He approaches the elf, smiling politely, and says to him, "Good evening, sir elf. Might I have a word?"

[WrathMage]

Ramas gives a quick scan of the Rose and Hammer, searching for a fellow Mulan to strike up a conversation with but with little hope. Seeing that the place is packed, he shuffles towards the bar, squeezing between the various folk in his path until he gets to his destination.

"A hot, spiced wine if you would good madame!" Ramas announced enthusiastically, pulling off what he hoped was a winning smile "And perhaps space on your excellent taproom floor for the night?"

[Heavensfury]

Looking up from his calculations, eyebrows raised in surprise, Kieryian takes a moment to study the human in front of him before indicating the chair opposite him with a nod of his head. I wonder what this could be about he thinks to himself.

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan brightens as the elf nods to him; he had very little experience of the pointy-eared folk and was not sure he could get the near-immortal to pay attention to him. He speaks in a soft voice, so that only the elf can easily hear. He sits in the chair indicated.

"Good evening, sir elf. I am Athelstan Moore, a recent graduate of Delhana's Academy, an accredited auxiliary to and preparatory school for Miresk's School of Thaumaturgy in Silverymoon."

He lowers his voice a bit further. "Would you gift me with your name? I know many of the mages of Silverymoon through my studies and through my father, Jonfred Moore, but most of them are human."

Athelstan smiles more widely and preens slightly at how cleverly and subtly he insinuated that the scholarly-looking elf is a wizard. By the gods, he's a genius. He tilts his head a bit upon hearing a very strange and foreign accent, but his attention remains focused on the elf.

[DrK]

Grifnir nods to both the fellow adventurer and the lady priest. Master Khoryn. What say you to walking into town tomorrow morning? It would be good to have stout dwarven company amongst the tall folk.. After hearing the response unless he's asked any more questions he'll turn in and have a (hopefully) sound nights sleep.

[Earl of Purple]

"Aye, it's traditional for followers of Marthammor Duin to burn old footwear and ironwork at Shieldmeet, though I don't have either at the moment. That sounds good to me, though I'll pay my respects to the shrine first." The footwear and ironwork is mentioned in Faiths & Pantheons, the book on Forgotten Realms divinities.

[Heavensfury]

"Hello Goodman Moore, my name is Kieryian Amarillis. Is there something I can help you with?" He replies politely, taking another sip of tea. "If you are in need of the assistance of a mage, I suspect you would be able to find many more capable than I for hire at the festival."

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan theatrically shivers and lets a little tremor enter his voice as he murmurs, "Well, this...is my first time away from home, you know, and I'm...a little worried. Everyone around is a stranger, you know."

"Dadd-o always told me that if I were in need of help, I should ask aid from an elven mage, because they're very trustworthy."

"And, well, the danger applies to you, too, you know? So I'm asking for a place in your room tonight, so you can protect me and I can guard you with my beautiful rapier."

OOC and Bluff and Diplomacy Please feel free to react to Athelstan's flattery and lies and cajoling based on the following rolls. Please also feel free to react despite the rolls, based on logic or whatever. :smallamused:
Bluff: [roll0]
Diplomacy: [roll1]

[Heavensfury]

Kieryian offers Athelstan a bemused smile. "That is...interesting advice your father gave you. I am sure there must be a scintillating story behind those words. I would gladly share my tea and listen to it if you feel so inclined."

"However, as for sharing a room, he continues, his face taking on a more apologetic expression, "I'm afraid my own family did not impart unto me similar advice concerning trust by virtue of race and occupation. Don't be too crestfallen though, the room is a small one, and let us just say I am glad I do not require a supine position in order to meditate comfortably."

"I do believe they are still offering space by the fire or perhaps even in the stables for rent. At least with either of these alternatives, you would have space to stretch out and sleep comfortably. If you absolutely require a room, an Inn called the Vandarhouse may still have space, though I gather the place has a seedy reputation, and if you have a fear of strangers with ill intent, the place would seem best avoided. As for here, I for one feel perfectly safe."

[Frivolous]

Athelstan Moore


Athelstan's mouth pops open in surprise, but then he tries to hide his emotions behind a smooth, carefree smile.

"Oh, no, the Vandarhouse is a pigsty. And so unsafe! It's not even within the town walls."

"Anyway, I'm sure everything will be fine. You're right: It's bad to trust strangers. I just wanted to be kind."

"I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, Master Amarillis."

Athelstan rises, gives Kieryian a theatrical bow, then goes back to Rose, still holding a stiff smile. "I'll take your kind offer of a place in your inn, Mistress Rose, but I won't need the place by the fire nor the extra blankets. How much for just the regular offer? I feel...quite warm already, anyway."

He also asks about the price of a meal, plus the drink he ordered earlier. In the meantime, he looks for the source of the strange Southern-sounding accent he overheard earlier while talking with the elf.

[WrathMage]

Ramas glances round the Inn whilst enjoying the warming feeling of his spiced, hot wine, the cinnamon and clove taste sparking memories of home, far to the south-east. Ramas notices that the Rose appears to have something of a cosmoploitan crowd, a heady melange of differing races and subraces. Whilst he has the space to do so, Ramas pulls out some of his parchment and an ink quill, and starts to scratch some notes about his journey and this new town, Deadsnows.