A Nautical Jaunt [IC]

[shamgar001]

The Year of the Iron Dragon has begun!

Paper lanterns levitate in the sky, casting shimmering lights over the crowded cobblestone streets. The lanterns are periodically lost in flashes of pyrotechnics which turn night into day for an instant, leaving behind only thunderous reverberations and smoky haze.

The bustling crown parts as a troop of lion dancers weave their way through the streets. After they pass, the crowd returns, laughing and cheering. The smell of the alchemical reagents from the fireworks mix with the aromas of all kinds of delicious foods: fried cakes dripping with honey, steaming rice noodle soup, savory roast duck, and more. The music of skilled musicians in taverns competes for the crowds attention with magicians and acrobats performing up and down the main street of the port city of Tetsu-Ryu.

The annual New Year celebration in Tetsu-Ryu is legendary, but this year is the Year of the Iron Dragon - the same year in the 15-year cycle in which the city was founded. This means good luck for the inhabitants, and everyone is optimistic about the coming year.

Six adventurers are here for the festivities. Although they don't know yet know it, their destinies are intertwined.

[herodofcows]

Ewan Harke wanders through the crowd, smiling guilelessly as he watches the jubilation. He's only been out in the world for a little while, wafted about by the whispers of The Wind In The Pines, but this entire atmosphere feels like home. Cheering crowds, jubilant acrobats and artists vying for attention, pyrotechnics and and performance and people all coming together to create a rekindled sense of wonder in a world too often staid and sad . . . THIS is where Ewan feels most at ease.

One stand in particular calls to him as he's swept through the crowd's energy: white doughy buns, smelling deliciously of meat. His mouth waters as he gazes lingeringly over the stand, awash with visions of pork and beef and bean paste and . . .

But, alas, he has no money! The start of a New Year sees Ewan Harke closer to penniless than he would like, and thrift was a wiser mistress than most gave her credit for. And so what? For is he not Ewan Harke? And doesn't Ewan Harke know how to make a living for himself?

Darting to a street corner, he sets down his backpack and strums his mandolin commandingly. He beams at passerby as his mandolin takes on a more regular cadence, hoping to attract a crowd.

"Come hear, fair ladies and stout gentlemen!" he begins. Ewan has a very particular way of speaking as he plays: never singing, quite, but always with rhythm and cadence as though his words were song or spell of their own (which, in all fairness, has been known to happen from time to time).

"Come hear, fair ladies and stout gentlemen!
I'll spin a tale beyond mortal ken!
A tale fit for the Iron Dragon!
So mark, sweet list'ners, my story therein . . ."

[roll0]

Cast minor illusion to create a small forest at his own feet.

Some perverse part of Ewan knew that this was a night for festive stories of great heroes and glorious deeds, and yet steered him towards darker fare . . . A few muttered syllables and occult gestures, courtesy of his mysterious patron, and a puppet-sized forest seems to grow before his boots. Not a charming forest, not one brimming with majesty and wonderment. No, this is an older forest, a forest that has seen blood and terror and things lurking beyond the sight of coddling civilization. Ewan's smile, still fixed, took on a sharpened quality.

"The trees whisp'red darkly of evil deeds
And mist settled as tiger watching prey
And on the the path that through this forest leads
We find a humble pilgrim on her way . . ."

Imperceptibly, unheard by any whose name was not Ewan Harke, the whispers of The Wind In The Pines began to grow.

[H. Von Studley]

"AND STAY OUT!"

Cragmar Boulderbeard lets out a belch and a chuckle as the tavern door slams shut behind him. He could still hear a few soft groans from within as the men inside nursed their wounds. Bah! he thought. Some people just can't hold their liquor. Reaching up, he wipes a little blood from his face and discovers a shard of a tooth embedded in his forehead. He examines it curiously for a moment before casting it aside. And some people just never expect the headbutt.

His musings are interrupted as the door behind him flies open again, just wide enough for his pack and shield to be flung through. He catches the bulky package, slings it over his shoulder and turns away with a grin as he hears the sound of the door slamming again and a heavy-duty bolt being rammed home. He pulls a crumpled piece of parchment and a piece of charcoal from his pocket, squints up at the tavern's sign and then adds the name to the bottom of the list. Then with a sigh he puts them away and strides off into the crowd.

Before long he comes across a young half-elf in the middle of a performance and stops to listen. He nods with a knowing look at the arcane demonstration and raises a foul smelling tankard in appreciation as the song ends. Then he strides over and gives the performer a familiar pat on the back. "Well done lad, well done. It's been far too long since I saw such a performance as that." Cragmar takes another gulp from his tankard, then offers it to Ewan and continues. "But why such a grim song on a night like this, eh? 'Tis a night for celebrating!" He grins and extends his hand. "Ah well, far be it for me to tell a man his trade. Cragmar Boulderbeard, at yer service."

[Dakaran]

http://www.iheartprintandplay.com/wp-content/uploads/Aldaran-Post-1.png

I've deliberately not had Aldaran run into any other PCs yet, as I thought I'd see what the others are up to then I'd either roll to see if I encounter any of them or if anyone else decides to have their character run into Aldaran instead.
Aldaran grunts as he heaves the final fish crate onto the back of a cart while the smell of equine manure and fish assault his nostrils. He takes a step back and looks back down the dock for his companions, a trio of fishermen. He spots two of them checking the mooring lines of their ship, while the third jumps onto the dock from the ship holding Aldaran’s things. The fishermen join Aldaran at the end of the dock and hand him his lute, sword, and other possessions. Everything that Aldaran has is the clothes on his back and the gear he holds in his hands. Aldaran suppresses a surge of anger at that reminder and flashes a smile at the fishermen. One of his best smiles. Quickly donning his gear, Aldaran extends a hand towards the other men and shaking theirs. "You have my supreme gratitude for rescuing me from isolation and entrapment," Aldaran says to the fishermen. A loud boom above draws Aldaran's attention for a moment and he watches as colors flare and expand only to vanish moments later in a haze. Aldaran then returns his attention to the fishermen and says, "It looks like the celebration is well underway and I daresay I could use a good… distraction. Gentlemen, take this coin with my thanks and enjoy your evening." The elder of the fishermen catches the gold coin that Aldaran tossed and offered what appeared to be a smile, but wound up more of a grimace. Hm… still a little upset, eh. Well it’s not my fault that you lost a tidy pile of gold dicing with me, Aldaran thinks to himself. With that, Aldaran left the fishermen and their cart behind on the docks and strolled into the buzzing city street looking for a tavern with good ale and games of chance.

[herodofcows]

The story does not go well for its protagonist, and Ewan paints her misfortunes with a knife-sharp smile and a voice that hisses and snarls. With leering hisses, he paints the quiet hush that falls across the forest as the pilgrim takes her first steps along the forest path. His eyes gleam with a glee not fully human as he begins humming the eerie melody that winds through the forest on a tide of whispers, beckoning to the hapless pilgrim as the sun goes down. His fingers stutter across the neck of the mandolin as he describes the bare wooden cabin that the pilgrim avails herself of as night falls and the melody draws closer. And when the door finally creaks open in the morning to reveal just what the melody had done to the poor pilgrim through the night . . . rapture.

As the last words of the story fade into the New Years cheer, the whispers finally fade into the background of Ewan's mind. He looks around and winces at the slightly nonplussed faces of his observers. And then . . .

Well, here was an interesting specimen!

"A night to celebrate, my goodly man?
(I name thee man, though thy name names thee dwarf!)" he replies, a melancholy look on his face as he packs away his mandolin and dismisses the skeletal image of the pilgrim,
"Tonight's a night of death as well as life!
A year has died, and so we are bereft,
We poor mortals, heir to the defunct year!
Ah, but I forget, so too are we bless'd!
A new year's born as the old draws its last!"

Ewan's mood seems to abruptly swing upwards, melancholy banished amidst a gleaming smile. He spreads his arms out at the passing crowd, as though he could embrace the whole scene.

"A new year with new fortunes to be had!
Its newborn cries are trumpets clarion!
And we inheritors of this year past
May spend our gains on arms and sally forth
And contest death on fields green and pure
Behind our new-born captain, this New Year!"

He laughs aloud, and takes a brief quaff of the proffered ale before returning the mug to Cragmar Boulderbeard.

"My name is Ewan Harke, and I return
Your tankard and your service in one breath,
And instead proffer myself for your sake
Name anything, dear Boulderbeard, and I
Shall with joy see it done upon your side!
I am but lately come unto this port;
A stranger, I, one unknown to these lands
To see, to serve, to storytell's my work
And follow those companions that I please!
And please it would, to celebrate with you!
So I'll go with you, worthy Boulderbeard,
And we'll set our shoulders to some great task
In revels, merriment, or what you will
For my will's what you will this New Year's Eve!"

He clasps Cragmar's shoulder for emphasis, smiling broadly, and turns to follow him wherever he might wish.

[Isyndel]

Corvan walked quietly down a side street near the docks, rapier in hand. All around him, people were celebrating, yet their cheery mood didn't seem to have any affect on his own. They've probably already sent assassins to kill me. I know far too much for them to let me live for much longer. I'm honestly surprised I'm not lying in a pool of blood somewhere yet -- maybe they're trying to let me squirm for a while. I wish I'd never accepted that fool Elvan's offer in the first place. . He walked in silence for a little longer, thinking deeply about his future, before suddenly looking up with determination on his face. "Well, if I'm gonna die, might as well die having fun." he mumbled, as he started to search for a tavern or inn.

Before he can find one cheap enough to suit him, he stumbles upon a half-elf in the middle of the performance of a despondent song. Finally, someone who understands.. He shoulders his way to the front of the crowd, silently watching and listening as the mood lifted, and took his thoughts away from his troubles for a moment.

[H. Von Studley]

Cragmar stares at Ewan blankly as the half-elf finishes his speech. After a moment or two of contemplation, he breaks out in a wide, delighted grin. "Mercy lad, they be some fine words indeed! We'll have no problem finding a friendly scrap if you keep that up!" With a sudden flourish he drains the rest of the tankard and throws the empty mug over his shoulder into the crowd behind him. Without bothering to turn around, Cragmar throws his arm around his taller companion's shoulders and begins leading him off down the street. "Come lad, we've a grand task before us indeed. Let's make sure neither of our tankards go empty again tonight, eh? We can drink to the death of your old year, and to new friends in the next!"

As they walk, he continues. "Aye, it's not the first time folk've wondered at me name. But as me mammy used to say, I'm a dwarf in all but blood!" Cragmar throws back his head and laughs loudly at his own joke, then pushes a pedestrian out of his way without breaking stride. "...Now where's that tavern... Yes, I've just gotten into port meself, though it has been a few years.... But what a night we've picked! The rest of me crew's already sailed off again, but if we can't find some fun without 'em on a night like this then I think we don't deserve any!"


Cragmar will keep wandering through the streets until he can find a tavern that's he's not banned from.

[herodofcows]

Ewan all but skips along behind Cragmar, looking on enraptured at his new companion. This dwarfish man, this mannish dwarf! He is not so much a mortal as a walking wave, coursing through the city streets and catching up the unwary and the adventurous in his tide. And he, Ewan, a man blown from port to port upon The Wind In The Pines . . . Ewan is well and truly caught up in this rising tide!

"An alehouse, then, for merriment and more!
If some fool should bar our way to the bar
We'll send him quickly tumbling to the floor!
Brawl or beer, neither ought to be too far . . .
But tell me of yourself, friend Boulderbeard!
You seem to me a man of mighty past
Who would in many ports be loved and feared
And leave stories wherever he had passed!
I take you for a man of martial bent
Who'll fight a man as well as he fights waves
But from whence was so stout a man here sent?
I'd know the travels and dangers he braves!
What sort of man are you, noble Cragmar?
And which are the tides that brought you this far?"

And so they walk, arm in arm, in search of fare and fighting both. The Wind In The Pines is whispering again to Ewan, but the words are meaningless next to the tone: Onwards, onwards, onwards!

Ewan follows Cragmar in his search

[tbergman92]

As Aeardor entered the city, he was momentarily overwhelmed by the masses of people celebrating, but that quickly turned into an excitement about what he would stumble upon. I missed being around so much opportunity in the monastery. His face slowly broke into a wide grin of true enjoyment, This will be good.

Strolling through the city, careful to be nondescript in his actions and taking in all of the people and sights, Aeardor noticed a few individuals that had made an impression on him--a half-elf storyteller that seemed to like dark tales for such a happy occasion, a human with many traditionally dwarven characteristics, a melancholy human with his hand on his sword, and another half-elf that seemed to be paying some fisherman for the opportunity to load their wagon. All four intrigued Aeardor, but none enough for him to override his hunger. He continued wandering, though now with a goal in mind: a tavern that looked to be cleaner and more well cared for than those nearest the docks.

A sign caught his eye--obviously freshly repainted, with a name printed in both the native tongue of the area and in the Common translation.

"Warainokami
The Laughing Spirit"

He laughed quietly, and said to no one in particular, "Well, this one is clean, though unfortunately inappropriate for me." About to look for a different location, he heard a familiar voice in his head, as usual saying only one word--Here.

Decision made, he entered the tavern and ordered his meal, sitting at the last open table and awaiting whatever it was that made this tavern significant to his Goddess.

[shamgar001]

The Laughing Spirit is one of the oldest taverns by the southern docks, and, Cragmar notes, not on his list of establishments from which he is banned.

Most of those celebrating the holiday prefer not to linger in the tavern, so as not to miss out of any of the spectacles outside. The center of the dining room as been cleared of tables to accommodate traffic, but there is a ring of seating against the walls, where some hold loud conversations or play games of chance. One player seems to have just suffered a devastating loss, Aeardor surmises based on his moans and the hoots of his fellow players.

At the front counter is the inkeeper, a male half-elf whose white hair belies the energy with which he moves and serves. He is accompanied by his staff. They are busy refilling drinks and passing out paper bowls of fried noodles. The staff looks worn out, having already worked four of the busiest seven days of the year, but they valiantly continue to serve.

[H. Von Studley]

Cragmar grins delightedly at the sweet words of his new friend, all too happy to talk about himself. He opens his mouth, ready to launch into a tale, when the crowd parts and the Laughing Spirit appears. Momentarily distracted from his story, Cragmar marches inside. This would do just fine.

He barrels straight over to the table with the men gambling and jeering, grabbing a pair of chairs along the way for himself and Ewan, and sits down with a thump around the circle. Turning his shoulder to cut the losing player from the group, he grins and winks at the gathered patrons.

"Seems like you lads could use another player or two, eh? Barkeep! A round of your strongest ale for me and me new friends here!"

[herodofcows]

Ewan Harke throws himself into the warm embrace of the tavern ambiance, greedily sniffing in the smell of warm noodles. The currents of people flowing in and out of the establishment fascinate him to no end. Following Cragmar, he perches himself on a nearby table and looks upon the other patrons with beaming expansiveness. Life, glorious life, rushing about like a madcap! Who could ask for more?

"One player only, I think, friend Cragmar
And only a player such as you are
I'll sit aside and pick a rousing song
For I think we'll want some rousing ere long!"

He pulls out his mandolin and begins strumming absentmindedly. As Cragmar sits himself down, Ewan finds his strumming resolving into The Ballad of the Lightning Pirate. He chuckles to himself, for this is one of his favorites: the story of a man who threw himself against an overwhelming tide of evil with nary a thought to his own safety. Roving, reckless, roaring in the face of man and god alike . . . this is the kind of story Ewan likes best.

"Welllllll, my name is Corbin Hollow and I'll smite you from the skies!
I'm Kord's own quartermaster and I thunder as I fly!
I was born low but now the stormclouds bear me soaring high!
My name is Corbin Hollow and I'll storm until I die!

In Old Turath my tale begins, with me a lowly thief!
I stole to fill my belly, steps ahead of woe and grief . . ."

And so on and so forth does Ewan strum and sing, more for himself than to call an audience. After all, The Ballad of the Lightning Pirate was a fine song for many occasions, and if Ewan read Cragmar aright, one such occasion would soon present itself.

Above all, Ewan reflected knowingly, it was a song for a rowdy bar and a brewing brawl.

Perform Check: [roll0]

[Isyndel]

After the crowd had moved on, Corvan resumed his original purpose. He wandered for a bit before finally finding a tavern. The Laughing Spirit....not really what I was looking for, but I don't want to walk around outside any longer. Hopefully it's cheap.. As he walked in, he immediately noticed the bard from earlier, and that most of the tables were full. He pulled up a chair from one of the half-empty tables and sat down next to Ewan and Cragmar.

[H. Von Studley]

As Ewan breaks into the first few chords of his song, Cragmar begins to laugh and clap and cheer, losing interest in the men gambling. "You've only gone and picked me favourite song matey! This one is written about me!"

Leaping from his chair, Cragmar dances a merry, uncoordinated jig around the tavern, clapping along in time with the music, and trying to get the other patrons to join in. As another patron, a human this time, walks through the doors and makes his way towards them, Cragmar links arms with him and spins him around the room, laughing the whole time. "Come friend, sit and drink with us! This song is about me you know!"

[Dakaran]

http://www.iheartprintandplay.com/wp-content/uploads/Aldaran-Post-2.png

In case it isn't obvious Aldaran is trying to steal that guy's coin purse. Here's a sleight of hand check: [roll0]
Edit: Okay, apparently previewing a post before posting ruins a dice roll... I'll try again: 1d20+2
Edit 2: Okay, apparently posting a roll into an edit doesn't work either. I'll just throw a new post in the OOC thread for the sleight of hand check...

[herodofcows]

"That bastard Chant spat in my face as I told him he'd die!
He howled as he slashed at me, and my rage turned to cries!
But Kord, he felt my pain and woke lightning in me that day!
I stood and my eyes crackled as I blew ol' Chant away!

The thugs of Silent Path turned pale and slowly backed away!
For they'd not seen a sorcerer new-woke in arcane rage!
The boss asked me my name and I told her the honest truth!
MY NAME IS CORBIN HOLLOW, and I'll fight your fights for you!

Friend Cragmar! I cannot hold back my tongue!" Ewan calls over as the ballad hit an instrumental break,
"A mannish dwarf claims Corbin Hollow's tale?
How come you to claim this tale yet unsung?
Or perhaps you've overindulged your ale?"

He looks around the bar as he speaks, trying to see the reactions to this lively ruckus. After all, though no ears would ever hear Ewan Harke speak ill of the quiet grasslands and cool embrace of a forest road, his very being was built of mighty tales and nourished by the roused emotions of a listening crowd. A bowl of cooked noodles and a swig of ale were fine things, but these would turn to ashes in his mouth if he could not rouse a crowd! He'd even take a flung tomato and a chorus of boos over stony-faced silences! Ewan sparks, burns, BLAZES in the presence of attention rightly earned, and to be ignored as he strains his fingers and sings his voice hoarse would be snow-melted water over the fires of his soul.

[Isyndel]

As Corvan walks into the bar, he's grabbed by a...human? dwarf? He's not really sure. However, he dances with him, if unwillingly.
"I wouldn't really mind sharing a drink with you now, but can we stop spinning? It's really making me dizzy."