Chapter I: So, you all meet up in a tavern

[sirravd]

Date: Month 3, Day 5, Hernesday, Year 729 after the Founding of Vathrentium

The Merry Dragon Inn, heart and soul of the town of Helix, is not crowded tonight; but that should change within a few days. The month is Tertius, beginning of late spring, when the Barrowmaze becomes accessible. The people of Helix resignedly await the usual influx of adventurers.

But there is little hostility to you in the Merry Dragon Tavern, though it is obvious you are adventurers. Berdnern the Barkeep is as cheery to you as he is to everyone else, which is to say very; and the tavern's two barmaids, a fire-haired Northern girl called Urgritte and a slight, sallow woman named Merda, are all smiles as they refill your drinks. Poor Alastor, the village madman who sleeps in the tavern's common room, grins at you with the same half-warm, half-frightening grin he always shows. The remainder of the tavern's patrons, wrapped up in their own private conversations, merely ignore you.

Who are these other patrons? Six men and two women, dressed in the coarse cloth of peasants, drink away the day's stresses after a hard day in the field; one, you notice, is Hendon the Miller. In one corner of the tavern, a man with an eyepatch and a black beard down to his chest––Osen, guildmaster of the Mercenary Guild––speaks to two men with broadswords strapped over their backs. In another corner, an unfamiliar young man with his face mostly hidden behind a scarf (an unusual outfit for springtime) surveys the room with a piercing gaze; you can never quite tell whether he is looking at you or not. At the tavern's huge central table, five Northern men and one women––most carrying broadswords, and all quite drunk––discuss something or other with great ferocity; every now and again you seem to hear 'barrow' or 'skeleton' come from their direction.

And then there's you.

Do you know each other? If so, how? If not, how do you introduce yourselves?

[Lance]

"Prying eyes" Endor grumbles, as he is wont to do "it's why I left my village. It's why I left Mountshade." He watches the bescarfed man intently. He takes a swig of his ale. "Let's get our business started, quicklike. Is that the Osen fellow we're supposed to get a guide from?" he nods in the direction of the indicated man.

How much was the beer he's having?

[Bluetongue]

Harker

Enters the tavern with the others, at his heel a slobbering mastiff pads quietly. Tyson sniffs at the madman who must slobber as much as him.

"Well, here we all are. Me released from apprenticeship to the 'Master of the Hounds' for a dozen years and you two religious zealots released from seminary and chastity belts in favour of holy quests" The wannabe warrior looks at the two serving wenches as a more suitable 'quest'.

"And you Endor, we just celebrate your release."

He takes a table by the fire. "Sit." He commands his dog but invites the others.

"Let's not be too hasty. This fellow Osen may not like being approached after office hours. I hear the miller fellow also has a knowledge of the moors. Perhaps we should chat to each of the patrons inside during the evening."

[sirravd]

How much was the beer he's having?

Coppers––so, negligible

[sirravd]

Incidentally, you don't need to put dialogue in blue, though if you want to it's fine

[Hadarai]

Brother Blaive

The cleric enters behind the others taking small glances around the room, once he sees the Northerners getting drunk at their table he quickly drops his gaze and keeps from looking at their general direction for the rest of the night. Sitting at the table he tries to order cheap wine to drink and fill his wineskin if available, otherwise he'll settle for beer.

"Y-yes I do believe that is Osen sitting over there with some of his men, do you think we could afford to hire some of his men to help with our business?" He nods at Harker.

"If we do I think I'd like to speak with the Miller or Berdnern, barkeep are notorious gossips...or so I've heard.

[Lance]

Endor ponders Blaive's suggestion. Which is no mean feat for someone this dumb. "I unno, we do need someone to show us the way. If you mean people to actually get in there with us, that be a lot of coin I don't have. Do you?"
Endor then attempts to take a look, but fails to go unnoticed.

Pick pocket: [1d100] = 85 under 37

I do enjoy using the dialog tags.

[Bluetongue]

Harker

"Okay, well you two chat with the bartender and I will chat with the rowdy group. See if he has a common room we can use and maybe enquire about what happens to stuff stored in rooms left by other adventurers who have failed to return from the moors. Does he have a cupboard ready for the church jumble sale, a cellar of stuff we can sort through. Who knows might find a map or some trinket of interest?"

I think as a group we have to think outside the box to make the team function and succeed.

Harker drains his ale and approaches the group of northern folk. "Brave adventurers, I cannot help but overhear snippets of your recent expedition. Skeletons, barrows and treasure trove. I trust your evening is for merrymaking and tales of heroic encounters within the fabled tombs and not a sorrowful requiem for loss. Can you share some advice for novices such as I?" To help lubricate their tongues and endear his perhaps 'unwanted' approach, Harker will order a bottle of wine for their table. (-3sp or cost).

[Stirling]

Fresh from the trek out of the Wrydwood via the slums of Bogtown, an elf, longbow strung across his cloaked shoulders, strides to the bar.

Vann Hector glances at the various patrons, assessing obvious village bumpkins from adventuring 'gold diggers' and 'grave robbers'. Drawn to the town by the exaggerated tales of bravado and fortune, he hopes to discover some truth behind the rumours and perhaps some relics to assist his vocational warlock destiny.

He spends a few silvers on a flagon of ale and roasted rack of honey glazed ribs. He takes a stool at the end of the bar, aware of many eyes upon him, including those from a slobbering dog.

[sirravd]

The Northerners turn to stare at Harker. One, a slight man who has the robes of a magician, says: "Get lost, you––"

"Shut up, Bjorn," cuts in an enormous, blond-haired warrior, apparently their leader. He turns to Harker. "I'm happy to talk to my fellow adventurers, for one. First, you want to bring a sledgehammer––some of the barrows are bricked up, and that's the only way to break 'em down. Second, most of the mounds don't lead to the maze proper; they're just tombs––well, tombs that have the undead in 'em half the time. Third, watch out for Renata the Robber. She and her crew like to spy on adventurers, follow 'em to the maze, and then kill 'em and take what they got. And––"

"Should we tell him about Lord Angr?" one of the other Northmen cuts in.

"Yeah, sure. Well, we're here because our sagas talk about our greatest hero, Lord Angr, slaying a dragon. But the sagas don't say where. Now we also happen to think the Barrow-folk were our ancestors. So we're looking for Angr's tomb, or the skeleton of a dragon, or...or something like that. If you happen to find anything related to him, you should tell us, and we'll give you...well, we can discuss rewards." At this, the man extends a huge, bear-like hand. "I'm Ragnar of Sveagruva. You?"

[Bree-yark]

Jacor enters the inn and stands by the door for a moment looking at the patrons. He traveled to Helix alone, hoping to find some companions to explore Barrowmaze with. The group of Northern men certainly look like the type, but his instincts told him they were a close group and not too eager to add a stranger to their ranks. Another group, containing two humans and a half-orc, along with a dog companion, looked more promising. Then his gaze fell to the grinning madman.

I've heard that spending too much time in those crypts can drive you mad. If there is any truth to that rumor, this fellow might know quite a bit about what's down there

Jacor muttered to himself. Of course, talking to a madman is not something one should attempt with a fully-functioning brain. A few drinks could solve this problem. Jacor took his spot near the end of the bar, by an elf with a longbow. Throwing 3 silver on the bar, Jacor called for 3 pints of beer.

[Hadarai]

Brother Blaive

The Cleric slaps the Half-Orc's hand away from his purse, more on reflex than purpose, the wine seeming to have gotten to his head. "Hey you watch those hands, I'm more than able to check on my coin thank you very much!" He turns his back to Endor and checks the contents of his purse while hunched over before turning back around. "Alright, well well I am a little light if you must know. I'll be a bit lighter after I purchase some mapping supplies, I've foolishly forgotten my set back at the monastery I'm sad to say." Finishing the last of his beverage he rises from his seat. "Alright let's see what Berdern knows."

Striding over to the end of the bar he takes care not to make eye contact with Poor Alastor (bless his soul) and takes a spot next to an elf tending to his plate of ribs. Once he gets the barkkeps attention the brother greets him warmly. Berdern! It's good to see you again, a blessing to you and your tavern. Another round for and my friend Endor here if you please. We having a final taste of civilization before we make for the Barrowmaze you see. You've probably already guessed that though, I'm sure you've seen countless explorers come and go no doubt...heard all manner of tales and warnings. You wouldn't happen to have some knowledge to share with your two best patrons would you? The cleric gave a dopey grin to the barkeep, his face was a little flush.

[Lance]

Endor would be furious for Blaive's slap of his wrist, of not for his quick offer of a drink. Knowing that someone with a keen eye might realize his lineage, he stays close to the tipsy cleric, hoping he'll hog the spotlight.

[Stirling]

Vann Hector

The elf watches the patrons, particularly the recent entrant.

Banded armour and strapping a shield, mace loosely hanging from his waist. A cleric? Perhaps some paladin on a holy quest? No sign of a holy symbol, perhaps disgraced from his order? Look how he wants to drown his sorrows ... The other cleric more obvious in his garb, associated with an orcskin. Undoubtedly a Nergalite with a cutthroat assassin. Crikes they are coming over ... stalking their next victim ... phew! they are talking with the bartender.

The elf assumes and presumes as he glances over the varied patrons in turn, using the mirror behind the bar if there is one to seem less obvious. The lone stool at the end of the bar suddenly surrounded.

[Bluetongue]

Harker

"May your God's bless you search Ragnar" he says, taking the warrior's hand and gripping it firmly. First impressions count he thinks and a strong handshake builds mutual respect though he anticipates the towering figure would easily outmatch him.

"I am Harker, recently of the Motte. These are my friends and flea bag is my faithful companion." He gestures to the cleric and half-orc and mastiff.

"Your advice to prepare and stay watchful is well taken. If we find such bones we can let you know."

He leaves them to their soiree, returning to the table.

[Bree-yark]

Jacor

Jacor overhears the conversation with Brother Blaive and the bartender. Here is a group that is heading to Barrowmaze, and soon. From what he can tell, the man talking to the bartender is a cleric. Not one of his own god, Crom, but a cleric is good to have around in any event. He decided to introduce himself.

Greetings, friend. I heard you talking about heading to Barrowmaze. Allow me to buy those drinks for you and maybe we can talk.

[sirravd]

Brother Blaive
Berdern! It's good to see you again, a blessing to you and your tavern. Another round for and my friend Endor here if you please. We having a final taste of civilization before we make for the Barrowmaze you see. You've probably already guessed that though, I'm sure you've seen countless explorers come and go no doubt...heard all manner of tales and warnings. You wouldn't happen to have some knowledge to share with your two best patrons would you? The cleric gave a dopey grin to the barkeep, his face was a little flush.

Berdnern smiles. "Maybe you overheard Ragnar talking to your companion? Well, based on what I've heard in my years working the bar, I agree with everything he has to say. Except that bit about the dragon...." he whispers: "You didn't hear this from me, but I'm sure that's just a myth, like all the rest of what those Northmen think. Did you know they think Nergal was killed two centuries ago by frost giants? Would that were true!"

His voice returns to its usual volume. "All that said, I have more for you. If you get to the barrows––and don't bother trying to go alone; you'll need a guide––don't stay too long. The moors are terribly dangerous at night––every adventurer I've ever known who went out at dusk never came back.

"There are enormous rats and insects and so on; that's no surprise; but also walking skeletons, rotted corpses infested with huge grubs, corpses wrapped in cerement or bandage...dreadful, dreadful! It makes my skin tingle to think of it. I don't envy your profession, and that's a fact!"

OOC: Price of drinks at the tavern is negligible, although rent is not. Don't bother subtracting money if you're buying drinks. I'll let you know about rent when it comes up

[sirravd]

Harker

"May your God's bless you search Ragnar" he says, taking the warrior's hand and gripping it firmly. First impressions count he thinks and a strong handshake builds mutual respect though he anticipates the towering figure would easily outmatch him.

"I am Harker, recently of the Motte. These are my friends and flea bag is my faithful companion." He gestures to the cleric and half-orc and mastiff.

"Your advice to prepare and stay watchful is well taken. If we find such bones we can let you know."

He leaves them to their soiree, returning to the table.

Ragnar wishes them good luck. "Oh yes, one more thing," he adds. "Beware of the magical b––" As he speaks, he slumps forward, unconscious for drink. His companions look at Harker with an expression that suggests they do not much like Ragnar's blabbing, and are disinclined to answer any further questions.

[Hadarai]

Brother Blaive

The cleric listens to what the barkeep has to say of the maze, his descriptions of the undead that haunt it's corridors seeming to sober the Brother up a bit. "Thank you for the advice Berdnern, we'll try to keep our explorations to the daylight.

As Jacor approaches the pair the cleric meets him with a smile, "Greetings thank you for your generous offer please join us for a seat at our table and we can speak about the maze. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Brother Blaive a cleric of the Great Lady Elei and this here is Endor.

[ginnymack]

With her black hair tied up, loose tresses framing her oval face, Mal steps inside the tavern and gives the place a cursory look around, one calloused hand holding the staff of solid yew. If anyone cared to look, one would see that Mal had traveled a long way as evidenced by the dirt and mud caking her knee-length boots and the hem of her cloak. Making her way to a empty table, she eases into a chair with an almost pleasurable sigh.

When the Northern barmaid comes around, Mal's interest is prompted and she flirts openly with her to gauge her interest while ordering an ale and a hearty meal. A diet of trail rations of late had given her a grand appetite and so she was ready to spoil herself. She could hear the talk, of barrows and skeletons. it appeared to her this was the place indeed to start her foray to the Barrows. She just needed to find the right...people, people with certain skills and of a like mind.

(OOC: Okay fellas. I'm around this weekend so do't be shy!)