Rise of the Drow

[Quiver]

Out of Character Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?489062-Rise-of-the-Drow-OOC&p=20811426#post20811426)

A wind whispered it's way off the penninsula and through the village, as if Rybalak were not already cold enough. Snow fell in steady streams from dark clouds, a week of it gathering on the eaves of buildings and in the city street.

Of course, snow was to be expected, this far north. It was Winter, and the days were growing ever shorter. Still, tonight marked the turning of the year, and the lengthening of the days again, so there should have been some sort of joy to take from that sentiment, at least.

If so, Rybalka did not betray that fact.

As you approach the village, you see small lights flaring into life. It isn't dark yet- the sun has only begun to sink towards the boughs of the Dark Forest- but already, men in makeshift uniforms are moving around the perimeter lighting torches.

One of them, the closest to you, notices your approach, and let's out a yelp which is, very definitely, not standard practice.

"Ha-halt right there," he stammers, face white as he reaches for his weapon.


A broad-backed barbarian would attract attention, gossip and whispers in most places. The only difference here was that the men doing the whispering wore furs rather than tunics, and the women wore blades on their belts instead of money pouches.

A number of days had dulled the curiosity in Tuffell's appearance some, though not the general suspicion. At least Suurmaja Samson had agreed to offer Tufell the use of his lodge. It was rickety, yes, and the wood was still charred and blackened from what Samson evasively described as "An unfortunate incident," the previous year...

But it was warm. The wood might be black, but it had stayed strong, and furs of great beasts hung over the walls, and Samson had charged what could be considered by anyone to be a pittance for it. And a warm room inside was worth much more than that, on nights like these.

It might have been that the townsfolk agreed, too. The past few days, Rybalka had been a flurry of activity, of ships pulling in to shore, of men carting the profits of the nearby mines back in carts and wagons. Today, there was a sense of listlessness in the air. A few folk were out, shoveling snow from the mainstreet into large clumps under the direction of Mayor Leonid, but they -and he- had set themselves to the task without much by the way of effort, their eyes frequently watching the sun sinking in the sky.


Taverns were supposed to be noisy places, of life and energy. Ordinarily, the Thirsty Serpent would be no different, men heartily congratulating one another on the days work while the bartender filled their mugs with another set of mead.

Today, however, a somber feeling filled the air. There was talking -one couldn't silence a pub with simple melancholy- but it was kept to the level of low murmurs and discontent.

The bar was full, or near enough it, with one exception; a large table by the corner, cups sitting, filled with drink but no occupants. It was as if it had been set, a seat left for a party that would be arriving soon... but for the past hour, no one had made any indication of arriving, nor or taking the seats, nor of touching the drinks.


Dwarves are not an especially uncommon sight on the Upperworld, though few would choose to stay somewhere like Rybalka when they could make a fortune in Morsain, or Mohkba, or any of the other great cities of Klavek.

Few. Quorron was one of those few, a dwarf who had could almost always be found hammering at his forge. Even today, when the rest of the town seemed listless and uneasy, the sound of hammers ringing on steel could be heard, the warm glow of the flames reaching their fingers out through the windows to colour the snow.

At this moment, however, Quorron was wiping his hands on a heavy smith's apron and trudging through the snowfalls towards the ranger.

"Deepstrider," he grunted. "Any messages?"

To be thrown in prison would be one thing. To find yourself in a cell due to the actions of your own people is another.

Rybalka had once been a Vikmordere village, a staging point for raids and guerilla fighting against the expansionist Klavekian empire. After it had been conquered, the native peoples had been offered a choice to leave or to stay.

One such person who had elected to stay was Sulwotik. Like Barai, he had once been a shaman for his tribe; now he ran a distillery. But if there had been any who would understand and appreciate someone living out the traditions of their people, it would be him, wasn't it?

Apparently not. Because he had welcomed the young Changeling into his home the night before, with all the enthusiasm and acceptance one would expect.
Then, in the middle of the night, guards had broken in, thrown a bag over the womans head, and dragged her through the streets towards the barracks of the town.

Now, instead of a comfortable featherbed, or even a cosy bed of leaves in a forest, Barai found herself in a jail cell, hands and feet in fetters, a guard glaring at her through the bars. Sulwotik -dressed head to toe in Klavekian fashion- at least had the decency to look guilty.


Yes, Rybalka was unusually quiet today... with one, notable, exception. There was at least one man who had been hard at work every since the morning.

Juriendor did not seem like the type of person who should have been described as a 'High Priest'. For a start, he was barely old enough to have cultivated the rough beard about his face. For another, the title was one bestowed as much by default as for quality, considering he was the only priest in the region.

For all that, however, he was also open and earnest. The sun-shaped hilt of Iomedae was embossed upon the Cathedral doors, a solar icon about the man's neck. Even so, when Father Magnos had arrived in Rybalka and began to preach, his response had not been to confront the half-elf to drive him out; it had been to offer him use of the Cathedral for whatever congregation the older man may have had.

not only that, this morning, a letter had been delivered to the half-elf, written in Juriendor's steady hand, asking him to call upon the Cathedral if he were available.

So! Much delayed and, I suspect, a rough start... but I'll try and smooth thing out as we go along? I gave what -I hoped- were appropriate, or at least interesting, starting places for you. I'm actually starting a little earlier than the AP suggests, simply so that you guys can introduce your characters and get some roleplaying in before the action starts, but if you want to go in your own direction here rather than follow my rails, go for it.
...Oh, and here's a map of Rybalka since... that might be useful for going off the rails. (http://nerdtrek.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Village-of-Rybalka-Map-750x579.png)

[bcool999]

"Quorron," Drakyl returns the greeting, holding out an arm to clasp before continuing, "No messages, least none I'm privy to. Messengers seem to be getting lost, and I'm being kept topside because of it." Darkyl's perpetual squint in the bright light becomes more of a scowl at that last statement. "Anyroad, I heard Rybalka has it's own troubles. Thought I might turn those troubles into rust on my sword before the powers that be finally set me loose to go below."

[Syekate]

Barai, for the umpteenth time, gave the strong manacles a good shake, just to see if maybe they had loosened some in the past half hour. She shivered as the cold metal fetters shift against her skin; the air was cold and they'd seen fit to leave her with but a thin scrap of blanket, which she kept about her shoulders. The poor girl looked positively feral in her bedraggled state, anger gleaming in her eyes behind welling tears as she quivered with equal parts rage and fear. She started shouting in her native tongue at the guard outside the cell, who thus far did not show signs of knowing a word of Vikmordere, or if he did, he was particularly good at ignoring her. "Tell me what is happening here; I demand to know! When I get out I will slaughter you all if I have to, starting with that disgusting man at the-" Just then a stiff breeze through her tiny cell window brought a deep chill, as well as a little bundle of happiness. A familiar little stoat with a white winter coat and black tail tip scurried between the bars and across the cell floor, quickly climbing her leg and nestling under her tangled hair behind her neck. She felt a wave of emotion, equal parts confusion, relief, and happiness from her spirit guide, and Barai instantly relaxed.

The changeling sat in the far corner of the cell, threw a dirty look at the guard's back, and addressed the stoat, whispering quietly. "I'm glad you found me, Kosha; I don't know why I was taken by these animals, but maybe together we can find a way out." She spent the next hour of the morning meditating with Kosha, preparing spells for the day. By the time she had finished, the guard shift had changed and she had a new captor. This time, though, she would try to play it cool. In Vikmordere, she asked in her sweetest, most innocent voice, "Excuse me, do you speak my language?" Then, in Klavekian, using some of the few words she had learned in her travels, "Know Vikmordere... talk?"

Just then, Sulwotik appears dressed in his Klavekian garb and Barai emits a low angry growl.

[Demidos]

-- Father Magnos --

The heavily fur-swaddled half-elf moved with purpose through the cold and cutting wind, his eyes intent on the inn ahead. Having to emerge from his warm and cozy room at the inn was far from his ideal, but he had heard tell that several strangers had arrived in town recently, and his circumstances demanded that he be there to offer his abilities. His absence from the warmth of the inn was due largely to the Head Priest of the area, a kindly man with whom it was important to maintain amiable relations. He had been helping bring in donations and keeping the church running smoothly. It didn't hurt that this meant that he was on hand for the inevitable petitioners who came with injuries or requests for healing from their work in the fields -- as a wandering healer, Magnos had much more freedom to go out and deal with these injuries than the Head Priest himself.

Snapping back to the present, Magnos peered through the whirling snow at the dark shapes of buildings all around him. He only hoped that the voyage from the cathedral would be worth his time...


Magnos is basically walking through the village, so anyone who is within the village, whether inside a building or outside, feel free (or obligated :smalltongue: ) to come talk to him.

To Barai/Quiver in particular, Father Magnos as statted is made to be a polyglot, so it might well make sense for someone to come grab him in relation to whyever Barai is imprisoned, if you'd like to get the PC interaction train running.

[SilentNight]

Vera's pace had quickened as she approached the town. As much as she enjoyed the cold, she had neglected to purchase a pair of snowshoes and the repeated motion of punching through the snow and dragging her legs back out had started to make her thighs cramp. She made a mental note to stretch well when she got whenever she was going.

As one of the rag-tag militia calls out to her, she stops immediately and can't stop a grin from forming on her face, Look at them, they're so cute!" she thinks, Like a new born lamb. At least I hope they're new, otherwise I can't imagine how these lot could ever keep a town safe."

She raises her hands slowly, keeping the smile. "No harm meant," she says in a smooth voice. "My name is Vera Davorova, follower of Sarenrae, this is Rybalka, d-yes?" She would normally end a sentence in that in Orcish, but experience has taught her to gauge the environment before displaying her heritage too proudly, and she changes the word at the last moment.

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[Farmerbink]

Slipping in the front door of the tavern, a tremulous shiver rips through the Gnome. Nobody said it was gonna be so cold up here! He complains, silently. Used to the perpetual and steady warmth of the deep earth, the brightness and bitterness of snow and winter came as a harsh wake-up to the diminutive man.

Almost immediately, something seems to go wrong. He assumed the lack of song was due to the fairly early hour, but after waiting more than an hour, no bard had begun? And that table... Odd, to say the least.

With a shrug, the Gnome slips off of the bench he'd taken by the hearth, and waddles to the bar. He climbs atop a stool clearly intended for someone at least twice his height, and stands atop it- putting his waist just below the top of the bar. With a winsome smile, he calls to the tender, "Heya, mister! What kinds of ale you folks serve in these parts?" He slaps a silver on the bar, easily double the cost, and waits for the inevitably enormous mug. The tall folks like their laughs, and the short folks like the tall folk's ale! Seems to work out well, most of the time.

Three-quarters the way through his drink, a combination of curiosity and lessened inhibitions finally overtakes the young-looking man. He beckons the bartender over. Leaning across the top of the bar, he nods his head towards the set, but unoccupied booth. "I gotta ask, what's that all about?"

[roll0] diplomacy, to hopefully not join our friendly Changeling in prison.

[Starbin]

Tufell

Standing at the window, Tufell watched silently as the villagers outside played at work. It was obvious they wished to be elsewhere - few loved chores, and even fewer loved the back-breaking kind. He snorted to himself, wondering if they would enjoy burning the carcasses of infected bilgstein. Of course, he had more respect for these frontier folk than the city-born. Perhaps that was what was bothering him about the lack of industry in these people - it was uncharacteristic.

Sighing, he glanced around his accommodations then back to the people. He had been given a kindness by the locals and custom demanded that he repay it. Pulling down his furs, he donned them and walked outside, heading to where the drifts were biggest. He ignored the stares, the whispers, even the stunned pauses. Reaching for one of the shovels, he proceeded to help clear the paths, attacking the snow with fervor.

If he couldn't watch hard work, he would step in and perform some ...

[Syekate]

Barai glares at Sulwotik with the ferocity of a cornered tiger. She says in Vik language, "I see you've sold yourself to the Klavs as well as me. How many others, I wonder?"

[Demidos]

-- Father Magnos --

As Tufell worked, he noticed the approach of someone so swaddled in furs that it was almost impossible to determine the gender, let alone the race of the individual in question. The fur-wrapped individual paused as it got closer, and then altered its trajectory, walking straight up to the hulking barbarian.

"You must be the stranger in town -- Tufell, was it?" Came a warm, rich male baritone from the depths of the furs. "I'm sure the good folk of the region have already done so, but I would like to welcome you to this fair town. I myself am a wandering priest of sorts, and have taken up residence in this area for the last few months, although there certainly isn't much to see other than wind and snow, is there?"

The man chuckles at his own joke.

"But surely, my manners are lacking. Here I am rambling on without so much as giving you my name. I am the good Father Magnos, in service to She-Who-Walks. What brings you to these parts?"

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell paused in his efforts, staring at the priest for long moments as the man introduced himself. It seemed he knew who Tufell was already - apparently the villagers were not only lazy but a pack of old fishwives as well. Of course, it figured this one was more for talk than doing as well, interrupting labor for the sake of talking.

However, for all these thoughts, Tufell was a straight forward (if not particularly verbose) person. In answer to the question, he simply responded, "Need.". Presuming the questioning was done, he paused for only a moment, before returning to his efforts.

I'll do my best to keep up, but if you're looking for multiple daily posts of conversation, it probably won't happen - especially with Tufell :smallbiggrin:

That doesn't mean there aren't RP opportunities, but he's not the big talker ... at least not yet.

[Quiver]

The young man's hand wraps around the hilt of his weapon, but he didn't draw it. His eyes may have looked at the half-orc with suspicion, flicking between her, the tree line and the darkening sky in an erratic beat, but at least he wasn't baring steel.

"Rybalka?" he repeated. "Yes, this- this is Rybalka. Who are- no, I mean, state your business!"


Quorron's face creased with momentary concern, but he took the rangers arm all the same.

"Trouble? Yes, Rybalka has its troubles, and more it seems every year. And you aren't the first one to come calling about it," he confided. "But I'd trust to dwarfsteel being what solves it, one way or another.

He looked the ranger over, adding, "Do you need a room? My cousin Miah, his last letter said he would be arriving, but..."

He let the sentence trail off. Miahs' last letter had probably been weeks ago, at the least.
"Anyway, there's a room, if you want it."


The bartender had a feeling of iron abut her, not that it stopped her from taking the gnome's coin. When he asked the question, she eyed him for a long moment.

"You're the second gnome to sit there and ask me that," she finally said. "It's proof. That as depressing as we are, even Klav's have a sense of optimism."

She poured a second glass, leaving over the bar, and gesturing to the table as she spoke.

"One of those cups is mulled ale. The man who should be drinking it, he would play the harp on that stage, very there. Another has malt, and it's drinker, he trained the boy's how to fish. That pale glass? That's arhi, and after my sister had tanned an animal, she would come in here, sit where you're sitting, and drink it in three gulps."

A patron gestured for another glass, and she obliged, before returning to Galton.

"They went hunting,"she said, folding her arms, "and I poured their drinks, and they didn't come back. So I keep pouring their drinks, in case tonight is the night my sister walks through the doors, shakes the snow from her cloak, and wants her drink."

"Galina is niave." One of the bar patrons spoke up. "It's been weeks. If Nadia, Alexander, Bastian and the rest aren't dead already, they will be tonight. As dead as Alain Daqar, and you'll be more likely to find him in their tombs.."
Very basic, common knowledge; Alain Daqar is a Klavek folk hero and Explorer, supposed to have lived and died a hundred years ago and whose body was never interred- think the classic trickster archetype in folk lore, mixed with the likes of Christopher Columbus.




"Times change," the man replied. His grey-maned chops shook as he did. "Refusing to change with them isn't wisdom."

Still, the stiffnes he held himself with clearly wasn't just from age.

"Wanting to grow old and die in the village of your youth isn't a crime," He added. "Whether it's Klavek or Vikmordere..."

The guard by his side tapped Sulwotik on the shoulder, said something in Klav. The older man nodded, murmured, and looked back at Barai.

"The people of this village are good people. They don't want to fight, anymore than any other. Co-operate, answer their -our- questions, and tomorrow morning, they'll let you go back to your people. All we want are our friends back."


The barbarian setting to shovelling snow certainly turned a few heads, even if none were particularly prepared to say anything.

Magnos' appearance, on the other hand, at least garnered some sort of reaction, some of the townsfolk offering a brisk, polite greeting between their preparations.

[Spoiler figured letting you both interact for the moment was preferable to my railroading the plot at you, so... still leaving you two alone, for the moment.

[Syekate]

The girl momentarily lets a look of confusion cross her face and tries to run her hands through her hair only to be stopped by the manacles about her wrists and ankles. I doubt this is the same village as he grew up in. In Vikmordere, she says, "What kind of questions? Who is it you are looking for? You're not making much sense, Klav." She throws a good bit of scorn into the last word, still rightfully bitter about her current predicament despite the man's civility.

[SilentNight]

"Currently looking for a place to sleep," Vera says with a slight smirk, "but I'm paladin they say, new to it so I'm still looking for some deeds to do and good to promote."

[Demidos]

Father Magnos waits for more of a response, but none is forthcoming. Still, the wide smile remains splayed across his face, looking for all the world like a kindly priest waiting for a spoiled child to give the right answer.

"What need would that be, my son? Those of the cloth can offer many things strange and wonderful. What is it that you seek?"

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell paused again, looking at some of those passing by as they stared at him. With an exhale, he looked back to the priest. Shaking his head, he spoke again.

"Not my need. Yours.". After a moment, he looke skyward then back to the priest. "A storm comes, and death comes with it ..."

Oooh, weird!

[bcool999]

Darkyl

Face hardening once more at the news of Quorron's cousin Miah, Darkyl almost refuses the smith's offer, but practicality was always a strong trait in the ranger, and an empty room invited specters best left out in the cold. "I'll be taking you up on your offer." Darkyl said with a nod, "As thanks, I offer what aid I can around the forge. It may have been a few years since I turned steel into a weapon worthy of the term, but a dwarf never forgets how to work a bellows." Chuckling in self-depreciation, Darkyl follows Quorren out of the cold before their beards frost up too badly.

[Farmerbink]

"You're the second gnome to sit there and ask me that," she finally said. "It's proof. That as depressing as we are, even Klav's have a sense of optimism."

The Gnome's eyes widen first, at mention of his kind, then narrow in confusion at the mention of optimism. Slowly, his head follows the glasses, nodding somberly as the iron-willed woman lists their absent owners. I guess that explains the lack of music... he wonders, silently.

He looks down at his toes in surprise. Somehow, it always felt wrong for the bigger folk to be able to reach so far from their rumps.

Galton turns to the nearer patron, glad that his innocent question has prompted discussion rather than lynching. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with being hopeful! Hell, sometimes, that all you can do!" He offers a wan smile to the bartender, before turning back to her more sullen neighbor. "In a certain context, that's why I'm here, come to think of it! Still, what can you tell me about where they went hunting?- not that I mean to pry, I'm just... I'm just curious, is all!"

As he drinks deeply, the frothy ale leaves a comically-broad mustache of foam on the narrow-framed Gnome's upper lip. He smiles, exacerbating the effect. "Hmm?"

[Quiver]

The soldier looked the orc woman uneasily; her words might have been meant to be comforting, but it didn't seem to have had much effect, with his hand still hovering about his blade.

"Good deeds," he repeated stiffly. He swallowed nervously... and removed his hand from the grip. "You picked a good time to arrive, then. I'm... my name is Falk. Welcome to Rybalka."

He swallowed nervously, puffing out his chest, with his eyes scanning the horizon again before flicking to the torches.

"You... you're cutting it close," he added uncomfortably. "It's almost... you don't want to be outside after dark. Especially so close to the forest, and especially tonight..."

He swallowed again, nodding. "Alright... we're making preparations for tonight," he said, pointing at the torches lining the perimeter of the village. "Once we're done, I can take you to meet the Mayor, and he can... he'll probably be glad to see you."


Quorron snorted, shoving the door to the forge open. A few of the hands at the forge -all humans- look up in open curiosity as the two enter.

"A blind dwarf who hadn't worked the forge in fifty years has more skill at the forge in one hand than some of these louts do," he replied, raising his voice.

His assistants laughed at the barb, hanging their aprons upon the pegs while the fire for the bellows started to go out. Quorron rolled his eyes, looking at the ranger again.

"We need to pack it in for the night," he added. "Everyone, get to boarding the windows, and make sure the latches are locked. The last thing I want is waking up tomorrow and find lemures in the furnace. Again."

Lemure's are an obscure creature in the setting, so if you want to try roll anything, let me know and I can tell/PM you info.


Galina snorted down a laugh at the foam mustache, even if the bar patron didn't seem quite as amused. He grunted, waving for another mug.

"The forest," he admitted, downing the drink. "The Dark Forest."

"They went in a group," Galina pointed out. "And they were all experienced hunters-"

"And experience counts for a lot on the other end of a bearowls claw," he interrupted dryly. He looked back at the gnome. "That last gnome and his friends, they were happy about it too. They should have listened to what I'm telling you. You want to go there in the day? That's a risk. But stay there overnight, for weeks on end..."

"It doesn't mean anything," the bar woman stressed again. "You know that. With Vik raiders in the north, those bandits in the south, everywhere else is getting poached dry. They'd been staying away longer and longer anyway."

"Days, not weeks. And that was camping in mountains, or on the plains. Treking overnight, in the forest, so close to Years End?" he looked at his glass.

"Either they were more foolish than we thought they were, someone got them, or they wanted to die."


"A group from our village," the man replied. He leaned close, wrapping his hands around the bars.

"You call them Klavs, but they were men and women I have seen grow from children. They left and never returned. A party went out after them, and they didn't return, either. And after that, you arrive?"

His mouth tightened to a line.
"Tell us where our... your people are," he continued. "Tell us where your raiders are hiding, and once our friends are returned, we'll release you.


...So, yes, I thought about it, and... I figured Magnos might want to respond to Tufell's portentiousness without me intervening? So, again, leaving you two to your own devices for the moment; after all, having the players interact with each other rather than with the GM seem's appropriate.

[Syekate]

"Maybe your people defected to the raiders, hmm?" Barai replies to Sulwotik with a sly grin as she stands up in attempt to meet him more eye to eye. The movement is made difficult by her bindings, but with some rattling she makes it to her feet. She is about to defiantly spit more verbal acid at the former Vik, but a worried sensation emanating from Kosha causes her to take a deep breath and say through gritted teeth, "I don't know anything about raiders; half the villages I visit want less to do with me than you do. They wouldn't tell me anything even if I wanted to know. So let me go from here and I will leave this place behind. Never look back."

[Farmerbink]

Galton eyes flick side to side, as he nods appreciatively over the rim of his stein. "Soo..... let me make sure I've got this straight," he begins, one long finger raised.

"They are experienced hunters." He raises a second finger.

"They all went in the woods together." His third finger joins the first pair.

"There are raiders to the north, and bandits to the south." His pinky.

"Another Gnome already went after them!?" he cries, incredulous. His thumb pops out to the side.

Suddenly, he turns to the bar's unnamed patron. His fingers curl away into a pointing finger, leveled at the man's chest. "Wait- what's the big deal about year's end? That sounded important!" The intensity of the little dark-skinned man's gaze draws the patron from his glass. One eyebrow arches ludicrously high over wide-set hazel eyes. "Well?! Spill the beans, already!"

[SilentNight]

Vera grins wider as Falk takes his hand off his weapon and she trudges towards the perimeter of torches. "That would be lovely. Do people hug here?" she extends her arms, if Falk's body language tells her no she'll extend her hand for a handshake instead. "I would love to meet the mayor to, what happens after dark? Monsters? Beasts? Or just cold that gives you icepicks on your chest?"

While listening to Falk's response, Vera helps in whatever was she can with the torches.

[Demidos]

Tufell

Tufell paused again, looking at some of those passing by as they stared at him. With an exhale, he looked back to the priest. Shaking his head, he spoke again.

"Not my need. Yours.". After a moment, he looke skyward then back to the priest. "A storm comes, and death comes with it ..."

Oooh, weird!

Father Magnos was impeturbable, simply smiling back, although inwardly his thoughts were racing. Whether or not the hulking tiefling was telling the truth, it was true that he had been hearing of several strangers converging on the small town, something that often bespoke of powerful forces moving in the background. It wasn't a certainty by any means, but especially in context of all the disturbances that the town had been going through recently, it seemed to be something that should be remembered.

"You are perceptive indeed, my son. You must forgive the villagers for their mutterings and looks -- the times have been dark, and this town has been hit especially hard, but on behalf of the town I thank you for coming to offer your aid. I can vouch for you at the town meeting, and it should put the good folk at ease. But come, do you have a place of lodging, or of respite? Surely I can offer you some such at the local cathedral -- the head priest is a good man, and while it may not be comfortable, it is free and honest.

Unless...that which they say is true and you have been staying at the Lodge?"

Something in the way he asks this seems careful, almost hesitant.

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell listened as the man spoke. It almost seemed as if the priest could have the conversation without Tufell's presence - if the demon-spawn left, would the man keep talking? Of course, he seemed to be offering help in a number of different ways. Uncertain what would be needed, Tufell simply nodded at the offer's end.

"Lend your voice, if you hold sway. I'll remain at the lodge."

With his answer given, Tufell wasn't sure what else to say, but he paused to see what the priest might divulge.

Sorry for the delay - last day of vacation!

[Demidos]

Father Magnos inclines his head to the obviously retreating demonspawn.

"You may rest assured that I will. And although there are rumors about where you stay, I am sure that they will pose no challenge to one such as you. If you require my aid, you know where to find me."

With that, Father Magnos turns and continues on his way to find the next stranger, the calm smile still fixed on his face.

[Quiver]

The guardsman eyed the orc awkwardly, finally extending his hand and shaking hers. It probably shouldn't be a surprise that his grip isn't the strongest, nor his hands the most calloused.

""Monsters...? Yes," he said, slightly uncomfortably. He resumes lighting the torches, a task that goes easier with Vera's assistance.

"We're used to monsters," he added, pointing at the forestline. "They tend to stay in there, mostly, but everyone who grows up here at least knows of owlbears and dryads and... all that kind of thing. But tonight is..."

He trailed off, and for a moment, the only sound filling the awkward silence is that of flint trying to ignite a torchbrand.

"It started about a hundred years ago," he finally said. "There's always been conflict between Klav and Vik around here. But abut a hundred years ago, there was a Vik warband, and it didn't matter if you were a soldier, or a settler, or a traveller. Klav, dwarf, orc or even an elf. If you were travelling through here, they would descend on you in the night with swords, and claws and..."

He paused, and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. "And teeth. i don't know if the were so bloodthirsty because of what they were, or if that bloodlust was what made them turn to begin with... they were vampires. A roving band of demons, out to kill every man, woman and child they could.

"It got to the point where the King, he sent his army out here to get rid of them. According to some stories, Alain Daqar was with them, but..."

He gave a half-shrug. Alain Daqar was a folk hero; it was hard to find a story in which he didn't, supposedly, play a role.

"Well, in the end, they were destroyed," Falk concluded. "All of them. Except... except that they weren't the only problem. They were vampires, but they were also sorcerers. They had some kind of... of a twisted magic. And the people they killed, the one's they didn't turn, they... they came back. And they keep coming back, every years end, when the nights are the longest, and the coldest, and..."

Falk shivered again, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, as the pair lit the last of the torches. He stepped back, eyeing the treeline of the forest, then looking to Vera.

"Actually... you're a Paladin. Are you used to hunting monsters? I'm sure the Mayor would appreciate having an experienced hand to keep watch at the Cathedral tonight..."


"Rybalka...we live in a land whose soil is soaked with snow and blood," the patron stumbled, clearly taken aback by the gnome's ferocity. The rest of the bar, including the bartender, on the other hand, watch with not-so-subtle interest.

"The end of a year, the turning of one to the next, that's when all that trouble bubbles up..."

"Ignore him," Gelina interrupted, taking the glass that he was reaching for away. "When he get's drunk, he think's he's a poet."

The patron scowled, but the stony silence he answered with was enough of an acknowledgment.

"Have you ever heard the story of Adrik's Folly," she asked leaning on the table, and continuing before Galton could respond.

"Even before Rybalka was established, there were Vik and Klav here, fighting to own the land. About a hundred years ago, the king of Mohba, he gave command of the forces here to a commander named Adrik. There wasn't a town here," she added, "not even a Vik settlement, so Adrik, he set about constructing a fortification for the armies of Klav. He had his own troops hew the blocks, and got their families to set them. When Vik's tried attacking them, Adrik took them prisoner, and set them to working on the Keep too.

"In the end, Adrik had constructed a grand keep, on the other side of the Forest. And once he was done -" the woman's tone went cold - "once the final block had been put in place, he ordered his men to execute the workers. The first blood spilled in the Adrik's Keep was his soldiers butchering their prisoners and their families.

"Within the month, Adrik was found strangled in his bed. His second-in-command took the army out of the Keep, but that hasn't stopped anything. Because at the end of every year, the bodies of the men Adrik killed... they walk out of the forest and into Rybalka."

If you want to try roll for more info besides the 'local spooky story, it's a Knowledge roll.
(I'll leave which type of Knowledge roll up to you, since... you'll get different reactions for it)


If Sulwotik seemed unconvinced, the expression on the guards face as he relayed Barai's words was even worse, and for a second, a string of Klavkian words echo in the guardhouse.

Sulwotik hardly needed to translate them to get the point across.

"Even if I- if my friend here- believed you, we can't just let you go," the wiry man said at last. "Not now anyway, and you should be glad of it. You won't have to spend a night in this cell at least; we'll take you to the Cathedral, and tomorrow, Sage Yuri will probably speak to you and then..."

He bit his lip with obvious discomfort.

"For whatever it's worth, little one I am sorry about this."

Of course, an apology was little more than empty words, when it was being delivered through the bar's of a cell.

"You're... 'friend'," he added in a lower tone, gesturing towards Kosha. "Does he bite?"


Before father Magnos could get too far away, there was a quick shout behind him.

Ignor Leonid -the bear-chested mayor of Rybalka- approached with a hail.

"Magnos! I'm surprised to see you here," he said heartily, crossing his arms. "I'd thought you religious sorts would all be up at the Cathedral already, burning incense and making preparations!"

"I see you were speaking to Samsaron's... guest," he added, with an edgewise look in Tuffell's direction.


Without Father Magnos, perhaps the barbarian expected silence to reign, a silence pierced only by the steady and methodical shoveling of the snow.

He was mistaken.

"I remember the last storm that hit Rybalka," a voice mused . "It was soon after our forces took this town. The snow beat upon our soldier's heads, and the winds drove it underneath our armor. Some of the men said it was Vikmordere sorcery, cursing us for stealing their home, and our generals had them silenced. The women who accompanied them, and their babes, cried in the night, and they were silenced too."

The man approached Tufell, a hand tugging at the thick snowbeard in thought. His expression was kindly. His eyes... less so. They were too full of a grim experience for that.

"And they died. A snowstorm is no place for women, and babes, and soldiers still green and drunk off the wines they bought with the kings coin of commission. But Rybalka endures."

[Syekate]

Well, it was worth a shot, at least, but why would they take her out of the cell if they intended to keep her there? Did they mean to put her on display and hang her as a lesson to these raiders she knew nothing about? Such paranoid thoughts ran through Barai's mind as she half-listened to the rest of what Sulwotik had to say, starting instead to look for opportunities to escape when they open the door. Maybe to transport her they would have to free her legs; otherwise, running away would be difficult at a slow shuffle. Then Sulwotik motioned toward Kosha, though, and she took a step away from the bars, her face contorted into a new framework of ire and terror. "If you touch a hair on him, even a speck of DUST in his vicinity, his bite will be the least of your worries, you kazdhal maqar sheeshi*. Even a crippled cat has claws," she says, flexing her fingers and ready to dance with the first person to try to lay hands on Kosha.


*A common Vikmordere insult roughly translating to "filth so disgusting not even a goblin would touch it."

[Farmerbink]

Galton listens, at first eagerly. He nods and soaks up all of the story like a short, flat-nosed sponge. After a few moments, his expression fades to suspicion, and he frowns deep in thought. "So, where I'm from, I figure we don't use the same calendar as you do. Time is pretty much time... never mind. I'll cut to the chase. This 'year's end' you're talking about. That's coming up soon, isn't it?"

[Demidos]

Father Magnos turned at the voice behind him, and let out a pleased smile at the sight of Mayor Leonid.

"Mayor, it is good to see you! I am just coming from the Cathedral, which is all prepared and ready for tonight. Although, I must admit, this custom of yours is uncommon in my experience of my own land. Tell me, what is the meaning of the ritual? I would have asked our good head priest, but for the fact that he seemed so tired it seemed unkind to ask him to answer to a poor traveller's curiosities.

In addition, I heard rumors of strangers in town, and so came to verify that all are comfortable, as is our sacred duty of hospitality. I was just speaking to the tiefling. He seems a good enough sort, if quiet. Claims he came to help fulfill our needs and speaks of some coming...danger?"

It is difficult to tell under the mountain of robes, but an interested eye turns to stare directly at the mayor's face at this last statement.

Sense Motive
[roll0]

[bcool999]

Darkyl

"Lemures aye? 'Tis indeed a disgusting creature, but do these parts really have such a bloodstained history to warrant such things?" Darkyl asks the smith feeling that once is already too many times to find such abominations amidst the coals. While speaking, Darkyl removes his heavy blade and pack and sets them against a wall as he moves towards the forge fire. Enjoying the heat after a journey through the cold.

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell turned in silent exasperation at yet another interruption to his attempts to help. This time an old man was standing there, reminiscing of storms, old battles, and death. The Tielfling listened, then nodded slightly.

"You fought then, old father? What else came with the storm?"

What a crazy old man!

[SilentNight]

"Claws..." Vera says with raised eyebrows. "definitely unnatural, but vampires? And not everything with claws is necessarily bad you know, I have a great lizardfolk friend who used to come by the temple to deliver sausage. Vampires though? Once vampires are dead they usually stay dead, don't they?" she gets closer and closer to the guardsman as she continues, probably violating his personal space a bit

she backs off and goes back to lighting the torches. "So these help? What usually happens?" she asks indicating the torches. "I'm a paladin yes, but I didn't become one to hunt monsters. Of course you have to sometimes. But I'm doing this to give everyone, Klav, dwarf, orc, elf, or even Vik a chance at good. I'll go to the cathedral though, I assume that's where people go to shelter? That means the bakery won't be open tonight will it be?" She finishes with a sigh. After concluding her conversation she'll stomp towards town and make her way to the cathedral.

For anything based off what he's said.
Knowledge (local): [roll0] (Untrained)
Knowledge (Religion): [roll1]

[Quiver]

The venom of the girl's reaction seemed to take the guard by surprise; even across language barriers, anger and frustration transmitted clearly. He raised his weapon, barked back in Klavekian -probably didn't improve the reputation of Klavek's as dogs- and looked more likely to skin Kosha than to touch a hair.

Sulwotik, on the other hand, looked -if possible- more ashamed. Then again, he had presented himself as a shaman; if there was someone in the room who should have known the importance of the familiar, it was him.

"Neither of you will want to be outside after dark," he replied stoning. "I'm giving you a choice between a cold bed in a prison, and a night in a warm room."
In chains, of course, went unsaid.

And, it is a choice. The Cathedral is the major starting point for the AP, but if you wanted to stay here and effect a prison break or something, I can work in in...


"Well...they come out at night," the guard replied limply. "That sounds like vampirespawn to me."

Whether it's a result of having the local legend cut out from under him, or the orc woman insistent presence, Falk looked sonewhat uncomfortable, offering an awkward shrug.

"We don't intend on staying out tonight," he added, "but if torches help scare them off, that'll help. Anyway...

"If you want a drink, you can probably get a last round at Galina's -that's the tavern, over there. A meal.. High Priest Joriandor usually has something set up for overnight, if you're hungry. He should be at he Cathedral, getting ready..."

Falk shifted awkwardly, suddenly making another attempt at professionalism. It was about as green as everything else about him.
"Thank you, for your assistance ma'am. If you run into any trouble...well, we're a small town, so that shouldn't happen...enjoy Rybalka."

So, if you want to go through the town to meet up with the others? The streets are being cleared of snow, though there is a little more activity of people leaving their homes, and getting ready to lock up for the evening.

If you want to head to the Cathedral...it's a short distance from Rybalka, easily noticeable. A large, rectangular building, with a high belltower, built of wood. The doors are a dark oak, a symbol of a sword with a sun-burst hilt burned into them, but they are wide open and welcoming at least.


"Ten years I've been smiting here and everytime I ask, there seems to be another reason why lemurs should be about," Quorron answered with a shrug. "The Vik's did it, or the Klav's did it, or whatever. All I know is that something with that many arms grabs every tool within reach..."

The dwarf trailed off, eyes falling on the rangers sword.
"You said you were looking to solve some trouble," he said slowly, "how about taking care of mine? I'd planned on heading to that ceremony tonight, but I'd feel safer if my door was locked and it had some steel behind it.

"What do you say? The forge makes for a better fire than the ones in the Cathedral, and I'm sure we could come to an arrangement about compensation."


Silence prevailed, following the gnome's question.

"I thought you were being brave," Galina remarked. "I didn't realise you were just ignorant. Yes, it's soon. I'd say about... a few hours?"

At least she sounded amused.

"You managed to get to Rybalka in time," she added, "and a good time, too. Even a Vikmordere doesn't deserve to get locked out with the sqwamps. Not sober, anyway," she added, pouring another drink. Charitable...but then, after stories about blood and monsters, booze was a good way to warm the soul.

"The Cathedral is open tonight, if you haven't found a room," she added. "There's the lodge, too, but... I'd rather go out after dark than stay there."

The amusement faded slightly at that last part, her expression hardening with a look to pre-emptively discourage that line if questioning.


"Well, at least one thing is going right," Igor replied, shaking his head. "Between the other's going missing, I almost expected the Cathedral to catch fire..."

He trailed off, listening to Magnos questions.

"I don't know if I'd call holing up for safety a custom," he admitted, "but the tiefling has it right. Half right, anyway. Creatures end up wandering into Rybalka at new years. They're more a nuisance than a threat, though; a disgusting nuisance, but still. The Cathedral was one of the first large buildings, so it became a meeting ground, even when locked doors will do the trick. It's tradition, more than anything."

He stopped, frowning. "Though, as far as customs go, there is the moon shard. I'm surprised Joriandor didn't say anything, but..."

He trailed off for a moment. "Well, he's been tired," he said. "The stress of being high Priest at such a young age."


Motive check results!
So, for the danger? Igor's dismissing attitude appears genuine; he does seem to regard it more as a nuisance than a danger.

He does seem less than convinced( and less than convincing) that Joriandor hasn't mentioned the moon shard due to being tired though.


"Men, beasts, wind and words. But never something like yourself."

His eyes ran over the barbarian, barely scrutable.

"But I won't mince words. My fighting days are long behind, but I have always drawn to the esoteric spheres. So, dispense with poetry. What exactly brings you, here, now?"

[Demidos]

-Father Magnos-

A puzzled look crosses his face, as Igor goes on speaking about things going missing and moon-shards.

"This moonshard of yours, good mayor, what is it? You speak of it as if it had great spiritual importance to the town. Is it a gemstone?
I can hardly believe that our good priest would have stolen or lost it -- that man has a sense of orderliness almost as strong as his sense of duty. And shall I take it from your speech that it has been lost? I would be most willing to aid you in finding it, although I would only be doing so as an extra pair of eyes, as I must admit that my Lady has given me no boons in this regard."

[Syekate]

Once it is clear that no one is going to come at her or Kosha directly, Barai straightens her posture. Given the offer of two choices, she immediately decides that she'll take no handouts from this barb-tongued turn-cloak. "Keep your warm room," she says, backing into the corner and slowly sitting down. She keeps her defiant gaze fixed on Sulwotik's eyes, staring him down. It is pretty clear that she does not intend to go anywhere with him.

[SilentNight]

"I'll keep an eye out, hope I can be some help. But remember, other things come out at night as well. Youth of every species tend to do it you know," she says, trying to change the boy's thinking a bit. "Thanks for the advice and the welcome Falk, hope to see you around." She walks towards town to survey a bit, she still hadn't developed a taste for drink, but it might pay to see the sights and maybe meet some people before heading over to the cathedral. ((Anybody out on the streets for her to run into?))

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell could respect the request for straight talk. He nodded curtly, leaning lightly on his shovel, he spoke quietly, his rumbling voice hard to distinguish from further away.

"Very well, father. My people live in a harsh place, where death comes often. My mother she is the chief, a duty handed down from in our family ... because of a sacrifice my ancestors made." . He reached up and touched the tip of one of his horns briefly, then continued.

"We are charged with protecting our people, but sometimes the fight is elsewhere. In a dream, I saw the world covered in spiders, a warning of the old Enemy coming back. So Light must follow Darkness ... even if the the Light's don't look the part."

Oooh, more exposition!

[Farmerbink]

Galton laughs openly, "Hah! There's my luck, for ya! On the one hand, it seems I made it into town at a good time; slept under the stars the past few nights..." He shudders with an unconscious twitch.

"But what cruel trick of fate brought me aboveground now!? Couldn't have been in a week or two?" With a sigh, Galton shakes his head in resignation. "So what, you folks are just gonna wait it out here? Or are you all headed to the cathedral as well in a few hours?"

As the Gnome continues to put about feelers for the local's expectations, he gently pushes the rest of his ale aside- suddenly doubting the wisdom of additional inebriation.

[bcool999]

Drakyl

"Heh, just like humans to point fingers and avoid the problem then just bloody fixing it aye?" Drakyl says with a rueful grimace which quickly turns into a pleased grin at the smith's offer. "Aye, I can watch the forge for ye. As for compensation... How about drinks are on you tomorrow, and you throw a coin or two towards my savings for a new bow?"

Glancing around the forge, Drakyl also adds, "Also, if you're off to some religious observance for the night, I might as well set up camp and cook myself some food to warm myself, mind if I raid the pantry?" Thus saying, Drakyl takes out his mess kit and hangs the cauldron on a hook over the forge normally used for a crucible, with the bellows away the flame has cooled so as to work as a cooking fire, just as his mam used to cook.

[SilentNight]

As Vera wanders into town she spies a small group in conversation, and is surprised that the horned member of the group is taking part as an equal participant. She arrives just in time to hear "So Light must follow Darkness ... even if the the Light's don't look the part...". "I've never thought looks count for much either, you have to look at what's under the surface" she says smiling with a wink. What meaning these three chose to take from that she didn't know, but she didn't care at this point. "I'm Vera, one of those sources of Light that might not work the part. Falk at the outskirts sent me to the Cathedral, do any of you know more about what's going on there?" ((I think we can safely catch her up with what's been said and I've already read off screen))

[Quiver]

"Joriandor?" Igor looked as surprised at the suggestion as Magnus was. "Did I sound like it was stolen? It's not, but..."

He frowned, chewing on the tip of his moustache, an old habit.

"It's...a rock," he finally said. "Some sort of rock. Maybe it's a gem? It doesn't look like one I've seen before. You'd have to ask Yuri, he's better studied that sort of thing. But most of the time, it's just a dull rock.

"That was how it's always been," he added. "For those years before Joriandor arrived, anyway. Before I did, too. The moonshine, it...stays with the church. So, even though Joriandor's predecessor worshipped Gozreh, Joriandor came into possession of it. But last year, during the celebration, he presented it to the congregation, and..."

Igor trailed off, looking deeply uncertain.

"I don't know much about your Lady," he said at last. "Joriandor is happy to let you use his church, and so long as your congregation keeps out-of trouble, they are free to do what they want. But maybe a fresh pair of eyes will be enough.

"It... I realise it isn't much. But during the ceremony, the moon shard glows and... It feels odd."

He frowned, clearly uncomfortable.

"It isn't religious," he added. "But it...it was something that was already here when we arrived. So to the town, it's...important. It stays locked up most of the year, but when Joriandor uses it, it still feels...unusual. Almost alive..."


"Spiders?"

The old sale's eyes flashed, but whether with curiosity or something else was difficult to say. Before he could say anything to clarify the expression, however, their conversation was interrupted by the half-orc.

Where he had looked at the barbarian with utility, the paladin made him purse his lips together. Whether it waste wink, or her race,was unclear; Vera, no doubt, had had experience of both.

"Yes," he finally said, "looks can be a bad way to judge something by. Even if it can be hard to look past first impressions. Or old ones."

He eyes the woman cautiously, a caution that wasn't just the normal fear of the unknown. Both ourt of towers were probably experienced enough that it was obvious that he eyed her arms, legs and gait the way one soldier would measure against another.

"The people of Ybalka would rather lock themselves away from nightmares than face them," he said at last. "Even the guards. We Klav are hard people, but sometimes, the youth today forget that. The steel, the snow. Children like Falk, they play at guarding, but they are...unacquainted with conflict. You both strike may as another breed.

"You must have heard about the bandits in these lands. I used to soldier here and I can tell you both that is a lie. I still have friends in his Majesty's armies, who confirm that much. Not mere banditry. They aim too high for that. They are too precise to be mere raiders. They pray upon the people of this land...like Spiders, snaring flies, I suppose. The people of Rybalka might have forgotten how to fight, but you two...

"You have strong arms and wills. Those are tools I -and Rybalka- could use."



The smith nodded.

"That sounds fair," he replied, starting to throw a thick cloak over him.

"I might not believe in their superstitions," he added, almost defensively, "but a local businessman has to make an appearance, if he wants to keep his customers. You go ahead and make yourself at home."


"Actually, we should already be getting ready to leave," Galina admitted, "so. Last call."

There was a slight moan of irritation at that pronouncement, though it was more muted than might have been otherwise expected. Then again, perhaps even a group of heavy drinkers knew that having too much before going to church wasn't the best of ideas.

"What about you?" She passed the gnome a second pitcher of water. "It doesn't sound like you have anywhere else to hole up tonight."


The former shaman stood at the bars of the cell, but at least didn't say anything. At last, he turned, said something to the guard in Klavekian.

Informing him of Barai's decision, no doubt. For a moment, he looked like he was going to storm inside, slap the chains on her wrist...

Sulwotik spoke again, and the guard spat, stomping off. Sulwotik looked back at the woman.

"A guard will be here," he said. "And he won't speak Vik. Don't try to escape. It will go poorly, for yourself and for our people."

He manages to keep a straight face, if not to entirely suppress a red necked blush at that last part.


Two points:
Firstly, yikes. Sorry, meant to get this up sooner. My week off ended up not happening, hence the delays.

Second...we're done. With the exposition, anyway. My next post, I'll probably start pushing towards getting things started PROPERLY, now that all the adventure hook stuff has been laid. Just giving you guys a heads up, so my railroading next time isn't totally out of nowhere. In the meantime, if you want to take advantage of the time between posts to interact with each other, feel free to.

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell glanced at the half-orc, raising an eye as she joined the conversation. He nodded once in agreement to her words. "Actions say more than even shouted words." He let the old man speak of what had been spoken, not feeling any particular need to share previous conversations with a stranger. Remembering the priest, however, he spoke after a moment. "I am Tufell, of the north. Who are you, woman? And you, father, who speaks like a chief?"

Figure he should finally ask a name :smallsmile:

[Syekate]

Barai keeps a straight face until Sulwotik starts to leave, at which point tears begin to well in her eyes. If there was any indication that she caught the subtlety in the Vik's leaving tone, it does not show. As soon as they're all gone, she begins to hyperventilate, getting control of her feelings with deep breaths. As she begins to calm, she beckons Kosha into her lap and considers their options. "These chains linking my hands and feet prevent me from casting any magicks, and I can't risk losing you to try to steal keys. Maybe later tonight, when they're sleeping, we can try something, but not sooner. Until then, let's rest, conserve strength, and bide our-" She quickly turns her head as if she heard something over her shoulder, but nothing was there. There rarely ever is anything there...

[SilentNight]

"Vera, paladin of Sarenrae if we're doing the whole formal thing, although it seems time is of the evidence so we should probably get down to business," Vera replies. "Father, I assume you are a follower of Iomedea?" Does she have any guidance for us on this night?"

[Farmerbink]

"What about you?" She passed the gnome a second pitcher of water. "It doesn't sound like you have anywhere else to hole up tonight."Galton chuckles. "I suppose you'd have to be a poor barkeep to not even notice a traveler carrying his meager belongings. You're right, of course, I've nowhere else to go- and if it means the difference between seeing the sun rise tomorrow and being some vampire or zombie's midnight snack... Well, that's not a tough sell, now is it!?" Galton falls into a (thus-far) uncharacteristic silence, as the non-Gnomish patrons drain the remainders of their mugs and file into the darkness with a somber attitude.

Without the aid of torches and a hearth, Galton's drab clothing makes it seem that he fades in and out of existence as they pass by a few buildings. Against the brilliant whiteness of snow, he is clearly visible in the moonlight, but against the drab façade of a building, the muted browns and dark grays mask his presence almost perfectly. Thus, as they arrive at the cathedral, Galton stays close to the building- the better to hear from without being seen.

[roll0] stealth to remain unseen as they approach
[roll1] perception... I may have to do something about that... I do, however, have darkvision, so light-related concealment isn't a problem.

[bcool999]

Drakyl

Joining the smith outside with a sigh, Drakyl waves the smith off as he leaves and grumbles, "You go on and make nice with the humans around here. If they want to judge a smith by his making an appearance at parties rather than the steel beneath his hammer more the fools they. Meanwhile, I'll be here enjoying a nice stew on this cold night."

With that, Drakyl takes a bucket he brought with him and packs it full of snow before reentering the smithy and locking it. Using the melting snow, Drakyl begins to use spices he carries with him and ingredients found around the smithy to start a hearty stew.

Profession(Cook) check: [roll0]

[Starbin]

Tufell

Tufell nodded at the woman, impressed that one not of his kin would be so practical. At he question, he muttered to himself, "Stay alive .."

:smallsmile: