So it Begins (again)

[nubz]

Alrite, I'll briefly gloss over the story.
The orks are at it again.
Its up to you to stop them.

You find yourself in the dwarven outpost-colony of Tuu-Dors, hewn from the cliffs above the great plains. A sort of barricade, as it were, between the Undercommon and the realms above. Rumor has it there is a riverside village (no more than a few families packed together, really) is in the path of an orkish horde coming from the sea to the Gods know what destination.

A shifty looking gypsy band of gnomes promises great deals on everything your adventures could possibly desire, for a pleasantly low price - plus a slight 'damage deposit', as it were. They seem to have their wares tucked under their table in the only Tavern in town that would serve "topsiders".

Yes, that means you.


The staff seems to be mostly half-elves, with a swarthy dwarf voice pouring from the kitchen sporadically before it is appeased by a pleasant but venomtongued voice that could only come from a dwarf's wife of "two hundred years and who's counting the days from there".

The main room is practically empty, but with the tale of how many people are staying in this hotel and its going to be hard to find a space because TECHNICALLY that room has been reserved but then again they havent arrived yet... yeah so much for courtesy.

Its no surprise that the dwarves have been at war for so long they can't always remember who its against... but lately these orks have become an issue. Or maybe its because they already had their fun with the goblins five years ago and the drow are on lockdown ever since the latest royal family got slaughtered by their own cousin.

It takes a second for you to remember what it is that brought you here in the first place...

[Cain]

((OOC: What I in this one/ I cant remember..))

[Larrin]

(OOC: you were a halfling or something that rode wolves, but you'd never fully made your character....)

Jerome sits drinking a small glass of wine and ponders the rumours that lead him here. Orcs on the warpath, innocents in the path...Not the sort of thing a good Knight would pass up, and He's been rather spoiling for a good fight for a bit. he's been a bit edgy for an elf lately and a spot of Noble Violence should get him back to his roots.

[nubz]

(OOC: You and I both know that you can toss a new character together in a day and I won't notice the difference, if it makes one to you)

[nubz]

Jerome:
Picking a fight right now, in this place...
All you have to do is make eye contact for longer than socially polite. People have had their throats slit for less, and you think that some of these patrons here made a living that way before.

[nubz]

Advancing the story:

Cid:
Your coyotes stayed beyond the city walls, they're not too comfortable unless they've got room to roam. Besides, you don't think they'd let you anyways.

You get more respect than usual, being a halfling in dwarven society, and are able to enjoy the comfort of a chair and table to fit your stature (though the mugs seem a little on the heavy side). People seem fairly tame beyond that, though this isn't exactly the nice side of town.

You already got warned by the barmaid that you shouldn't go messing with the two strangers in the corner... They are often called Half & Half, though never to their faces. Nobody knows their names, but its clear he's a Half-Ork and she a Halfling. By what you have been told, they are after nothing more than blood and brew.

(PS: if you had 15 strength, I'd let you take an exotic weapon slot to use the longspear in the same sort of way a Bastard Sword works... as is its being downsized to a Shortspear, which is still two-handed for you. On the other hand, it was a spear crafted by a wise old friend through Transmute Wood and other natural means, so its unbreakable)



Hugart the Lion-Heart:
You've gotten a lot of looks, many of them fearful. The people at the gate were too scared to even think about asking for the lion to wait outside (please give it a name), but that brought the misfortune of having to find the only stablehouse without any business to room the two of you.

Not that its the first time you've spent a night on a stable floor.

As you enter the Tavern, you smell something . . . strange. Someone has the stench of death on them, and its hard to tell who in such a dark, crowded place. You can't tell if its because they've been in battle recently and didn't wash their equipment off properly, or if its something else. Doesn't really matter at this point.

Seating yourself close to the door at a large table with a good sturdy bench leaning against the cornerpost seems like the best option. Its never cheap to replace furniture in a town like this. The barmaid politely introduces herself and, in passing, places a pitcher of water down before yelling over her shoulder that today's special is "Stew and Potatoes." Its always Stew and Potatoes. Everywhere.

The only difference is some places use real meat in their stew, not the rats they keep killing in the pantry.


Jerome:
A half-elf bar-wench seems to be the one serving you today. Timid as a mouse and quite the poor pronunciation, but at least she's speaking elvish and referring to you as a "High Lord".

She rattles off a few things from the menu - to serve all sorts of appetites - without once making eye contact with you. You order your wine and dismiss her, then go about studying the room. [rolling: 7]

Yep. Lets see... a Halfling and Half-Ork in the Northwest corner of the room. They're quite friendly with each other, and judging by the fresh blood easing its way through bandages on both their bodies thats as far as the courtesy extends. In the center of the room is an average looking human, head down on the table and out like a light. The leather strap hanging from his belt looks like it had a coinpurse attached earlier in the day, but if he's lucky the room and meal have already been paid for. There's a little halfling near the fireplace, seems wild in the eyes and a little scruffy. Table manners aren't horrible, so you don't think too bad of a person.

Then a giant, greyish looking fellow steps through the door, ducking low to make it through and even lower still to stoop below the rafters. He makes his way to a bench that looks like it was built for four full-plate adorned dwarves, and it groans with pain as he sits. The wall noticeably shifts and squeaks as he leans on it, and you can see cracks of light poking through the boards.

Everyone's eyes are on him, and you can see the owner's wife invoke a Divination from where she stands behind the bar. The magic shivers through the air, and by the look on her face she appears to have decided not to kill him. Instead, she pours him up a pitcher of water and offers the lunch special.

Nobody blinks as a rather large looking Lion comes through the door soon thereafter and, sniffing the air, curls up below the giant's table and begins purring.

(OOC: Larrin and DC are both Lawful Good. Cain, you're Neutral Good. Act accordingly.)

[Cain]

Cid glances at the the pair consideringly, mostly he wonders how much is rumer and how much true, he doesn't like the sound of them, but sees no reason to start trouble over stories, yet. He'll have to keep an eye on them though.
He then goes to examining around the room and assuming he notices the hard to miss lion, takes interest in that, afterall, its not everyday you see a cat that big this far from it's native habitat.

[Larrin]

Jerome corrects the half-elf that he is only a Lord, but passes her a coin in thanks for the service. He can wait for the battle field for violence, more honor, and more cleansing to the soul, so he doesn't linger on the brutes in the corner. It seems likely that the owners wife divined a non-evilness about the giant that just walked in. Good enough for Jerome, he might introduce himself later. For now he sipps his wine and keeps his wits about him. Excitement will come soon enough....

[Death Cobra]

HULK orders the special stew...even if it is the rats it is something. He takes up the pitcher and drinks out of it as if it were merely a cup. Who would blame him, an average cup could not even begin to quench his thirst. Before the barmaid goes he asks her if there were any left over bones that he...his cat, Fel, may have to chew on. Come on...racial habits are hard to get rid of, better a left over bone than someone elses leg.

[nubz]

Cid: The lion seems to take notice of you as well. From where it sits, it raises its eyes to meet yours; there's that moment of truth, and you realize that this great beast named Fel is a bloodthirsty brute, but doesn't have a taste for halflings.

Too much skin and bone.

You mentally whisper a greeting, and it goes back to sleep.


Hulk:
The stew comes out in short order, with a great big soupbone sticking out of the rather impressively large bowl. "Four Silver," she says over her shoulder as she heads to drop a leg of mutton in front of the two sitting in the corner.

You hear the ork mutter something about who gets served first, which stops the old dwarven woman in her tracks. Spinning on her heel, she fixes him with a glare that could melt the scales off a dragon, and he sensibly grabs a mouthful to keep his tongue in check.


Jerome:
Outside you hear a number of horses, and muted voices. Its impossible to make out how many with the giant slurping at his stew, but judging by the eight men walking through the door, you assume at least one squire was left to tend the horses.
[rolling] 3 humans, one might be a female... two dwarves, a drow, the tallest halfling you've ever seen, and a wizard of indeterminate race.

The dwarves instinctively reach for their axes upon seeing the grey Hulk, but get distracted as the other newcomers push them to get out of the doorway. The one that may be a girl dislodges the sleeping patron from his table by means of tossing his/her shortsword and scabbard onto the table. By the way they seat themselves (scattered around the room) its fairly clear that they simply traveled together.

What catches your eye is the way the drow and the wizard seat themselves at the bar - separated by three stools - and have a whispered conversation without letting on that they're in fact talking.

"Can I interest you in a fine set of Troll-Slaying arrows?" The voice came from nowhere, or by your elbow... You have no idea where the gnome just came from, and you check your pockets out of habit. He's dressed in neutral garb, not too flashy but clean and vibrant colours prove that the garment is relatively new. Well worn boots, clean shaven, and shaggy brown hair reaching his brow and covering his ears. You haven't spent enough time with gnomes to guess at his age, but he's somewhere between adulthood and middle-aged.