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[IC] [Greyhawk] Group 1: Krestible, Perrenland
Pony
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Krestible, Perrenland
You find yourself in the town of Krestible, in the young nation of Perrenland. Many things could have brought you here. The mountains, rife with monsters and treasure, hold promises of wealth and daring adventure. Barbarian tribes to the north are always a hazard, as are demihuman bands that rove the countryside.
You are in the Hammer and the Thumb, a small tavern. Late in the evening, this tavern is largely empty, save for the bartender, a barmaid, and a few individuals who appear just as foreign to these lands as you. A single fire place set into one wall is burning brightly, illuminating and warming the tavern.
It is late autumn, and the rain is heavy. A thunderstorm rages outside, but inside all you can hear is the patter of the rain on the rooftop and the occasional rumble of thunder echoing off the mountains miles in the distance.
The air is still but warm, and the tavern silent but for the rain and the crackling of the fire, and the occasional noise of a moved chair or a stein being put onto the table by a dining patron.
Individuals of Note
The Bartender - A portly human man of clear Flan descent, seemingly in his late thirties. He wears a stained grey shirt and simple brown trousers, with a brown leather vest. He sports a thick black mustache, and is mostly bald. He stands at the bar, leaning on one elbow, quietly and absently cleaning one stein with a rag. His brown eyes stare into the fire, as if daydreaming.
The Barmaid - A Flan woman, she is a touch on the heavier side, with long and curly brown hair. Appearing to be in her early twenties, she moves about the tavern softly, leaning to take orders from patrons and to pick up dishes and steins left behind by previous customers. She wears a commoner's dirndl, and she is rather plain in appearance save for her green eyes, which sparkle and catch the glance of those intrigued by such things.
The Cloaked Man - A man in a dark cloak, probably human and olive-skinned from the hand that grips his stein, sits silently in the corner of the tavern, at a table for two with the other chair moved elsewhere. He sips occasionally at his ale. The hood of his black cloak is pulled up over his face, concealing it in shadows, and the cloak itself is draped over his shoulders, concealing most of his body. From his frame, he appears small and thin. He wears a gold ring on the index finger of his right hand. The ring is set with a large red gem, possibly a ruby, and it glints in the light of the fire when he reaches for his stein.
Take this opportunity to describe your character and what they are doing in the tavern at this moment.
You find yourself in the town of Krestible, in the young nation of Perrenland. Many things could have brought you here. The mountains, rife with monsters and treasure, hold promises of wealth and daring adventure. Barbarian tribes to the north are always a hazard, as are demihuman bands that rove the countryside.
You are in the Hammer and the Thumb, a small tavern. Late in the evening, this tavern is largely empty, save for the bartender, a barmaid, and a few individuals who appear just as foreign to these lands as you. A single fire place set into one wall is burning brightly, illuminating and warming the tavern.
It is late autumn, and the rain is heavy. A thunderstorm rages outside, but inside all you can hear is the patter of the rain on the rooftop and the occasional rumble of thunder echoing off the mountains miles in the distance.
The air is still but warm, and the tavern silent but for the rain and the crackling of the fire, and the occasional noise of a moved chair or a stein being put onto the table by a dining patron.
Individuals of Note
The Bartender - A portly human man of clear Flan descent, seemingly in his late thirties. He wears a stained grey shirt and simple brown trousers, with a brown leather vest. He sports a thick black mustache, and is mostly bald. He stands at the bar, leaning on one elbow, quietly and absently cleaning one stein with a rag. His brown eyes stare into the fire, as if daydreaming.
The Barmaid - A Flan woman, she is a touch on the heavier side, with long and curly brown hair. Appearing to be in her early twenties, she moves about the tavern softly, leaning to take orders from patrons and to pick up dishes and steins left behind by previous customers. She wears a commoner's dirndl, and she is rather plain in appearance save for her green eyes, which sparkle and catch the glance of those intrigued by such things.
The Cloaked Man - A man in a dark cloak, probably human and olive-skinned from the hand that grips his stein, sits silently in the corner of the tavern, at a table for two with the other chair moved elsewhere. He sips occasionally at his ale. The hood of his black cloak is pulled up over his face, concealing it in shadows, and the cloak itself is draped over his shoulders, concealing most of his body. From his frame, he appears small and thin. He wears a gold ring on the index finger of his right hand. The ring is set with a large red gem, possibly a ruby, and it glints in the light of the fire when he reaches for his stein.
Take this opportunity to describe your character and what they are doing in the tavern at this moment.
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Striding confidently forward with a jangling of armor, she unshouldered her heavy pack and threw it beneath an empty table near the fire. Her mace and bow she leaned against the table, but her sword she kept within reach. It was as dear to her as the rough-hewn holy symbol about her neck.
"Begging your pardon, my lady", she said to the barmaid, "If I could have a mug of water and a hot meal, I would be most appreciative."
The bartender, snapped suddenly out of his idle daydream by the order, stood up straight and moved into the kitchen behind the bar, grabbing a clay bowl along the way.
The barmaid looked back to Morgaine. "Water, young sir? There's plenty of that out of doors, after all." she said, smiling warmly "A more manly drink perhaps?"
"A wonderful suggestion. Perhaps I shall have a small glass of wine... nothing too strong or fancy, please."
She looked back to the bartender. "Hans, is that stew ready?"
The bartender re-appeared from the kitchen, bowl in hand, steam wafting off it.
"Ja." he replied, placing the bowl on the bar. As she went to retrieve it, the barmaid reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of wine and a fine glass, and carefully balanced all three items as she returned to Morgaine's table. As she poured the glass for the cleric, she asked "So what brings an individual like yourself to our humble town?"
Slowly he stoped and walked up to the bar, tossing the tender a silver. "Know where i can find a game?", he said, then paused "Uhh, low buy in".
He turned to Morgaine, "How bout you? good looking lass like yourself can probably point me towards a game. Or something with money in it"
More drumming on the bar, then.
"Hey! Ain't a dwarf's copper juz' good as any-a-one else's?" He was loud and probably rude, but the grin he wore on his face and the tight grip he had on his first stein gave proof that he was in good humor nonetheless.
He had been tempted many times into falling back on his pipe for comfort, but had so far denied the urge.
He sat in the corner of the tavern, sipping on his third beer of the night. Not a heavy drinker, he now felt a pleasant buzz and sense of undeserved accomplishment. Believing he has reached an epiphany, he decides the death of his former partner was due more to the blame of circumstance than himself, and that it is time to move onto things better than self doubt. He appraises the newcomers to the bar, and not for the first time glances curiously at the cloaked gentleman sitting across the tavern from him.
The bartender, Hans, placed the silver back on the bar, sliding it back to Gregory. "Gambling, sir? Not in Krestible. Don't approve of it. Too much bad blood between the clans to make debts a part of it."
When Gregory turned the question to the barmaid, she simply shrugged sheepishly.
Hans turned next to the dwarf, pouring him a stein and sliding it down the bar. He kept his distance from the barbarian, and brought his attention back to Gregory "Ask me, lad such as yourself should keep clear of such games. Foul people..."
Just then, the man in the dark cloak rose from his seat, walking to a more central location of the tavern.
"Adventurers..." he began, his voice low but carrying over the din of movement and conversation "I may have a proposition for you. Two decades ago a ma-..."
He is interrupted suddenly by the crack of thunder, so loud it drowns out all noise in the tavern. The thunderclap shakes the ground and the walls, rattling dust from the beams of the roof structure. To a trained ear, it's clear that was no thunderclap. It was an explosion. Some terrible shaking of the earth.
Immediately thereafter, there is a roar. A roar louder than any you may have heard in your time, a roar so loud that the tavern itself vibrates. It comes from outside, distant, in the thunderstorm, but whatever mighty beast issued that call must be either close... or massive.
"Any of you who are not prepared to see what that was would do best to take cover..."
She looked behind her at the room.
"...and if any of you have the fortitude to keep your feet... you had best put steel in your hands."
The young cleric turned and moved a free hand closer to her arrows. She gently began to push the door with her foot so that she might open it a crack and see what was out there.
Occasionally, lightning flashes across the mountains miles away, illuminating them for a brief instance.
In one such flash, you see something... something horrific. Something massive. Whatever it is, it's miles away from the town, but judging from the distance and the mountains, it must be nearly a hundred feet in size.
You can hear another earthshaking roar. Perhaps it is hungry.
And then, "Oh, oh my."
"Well," she said to the rogue, "judging by the size of that thing, I'm not so sure that anyone here is all that safe staying put... but I suppose we should find someone who knows what it is. And I think that these "toothpicks" of ours are a great deal more that most of the people in this town have. As ridiculous as it sounds, our chances of survival are quite good compared to that of any merchant or tradesman."
She moved away from the door and over to the bartender.
"Hans, is it? I need to know if you have a local militia, or any other way that you might escape Krestible in some orderly fashion if this beast begins tearing the town apart, I need to know if there is a garrison nearby, or if you know of anyone who might be able to tell us more about that beast."
She shouldered her bow and looked back at the room.
"And I need to know if any of you who bear arms have the sand to do something other than run away quickly!"
Anneka, the barmaid, cut Hans off "The 4th's out north, fighting the nomads! There's no soldiers in this city!"
Hans' eyes darted back nervously to the cleric. He stammered with fear, speaking quickly and rambling. "R-right. Well then, the Landwehr, the militia! We can rally the militia! Is there a beast out there? Is it large? There's a trained militia here, five hundred and some odd men! We'll be fine, they just need to know..."
Anneka began putting on her travelling cloak, pulling it over her face. "Hans, I'm going to run to Erhard's house. He'll put the call to rally the militia."
She began to make her way for the door, when the beast let out another roar. Louder. Closer, perhaps...
Anneka recoiled from the door, stepping back slowly "I... I'm sorry I... perhaps one of you would be faster! Erhard lives in der Bolwerk, across town. His home is easy to see, it's the only one with guards. Speak to his guards. No doubt they've heard the monster's roar!"
Hans came around the bar, grabbing Anneka by the arm "Gods help us all! We have to hide, Anneka. The storm shelter, in the basement! We have to hurry! Turn out the lights! This monster will devour the town! We have to hide!"
The cloaked man pulled back his hood, revealing an Oeridian man in his thirties. Skinny, with greying brown hair and brown eyes. He looked around the room "A-adventurers, surely this town needs you more than my petty quest... we must alert the militia, and the townsfolk! We must hurry!"
Hearing another roar of the beast, the cloaked man stammered "B-by we, I mean... you. I must... I must hide with the barkeep and his server, to keep them safe, you see! Something... something must be done!"
"Trying to call my stones into question," he muttered, but he made no move to leave and patiently awaited the bartender's response, arms folded and looking dour.
The young woman ran for the door, shouting behind her.
"Anyone else with a sharp blade and a strong heart is welcome to come with us!"
She raced out the door into the noise of the roaring beast... Erhard... der Bolwerk, across town... the only house with guards. Well, if it's not that easy to find hopefully there's a watchman or citizen out there who knows where it is.
"Awright, folks, I'ma comin'!"
You ran through the town, moving quickly and with purpose. The cobblestone roads were slick under your feet, and when you stepped off the roads the mud was slippery and thick.
Already, the townsfolk were stirring, woken from their beds and brought from their doors by the terrible roaring. They milled about on their front porches and in thoroughfares, talking amongst themselves in panicked voices at what that terrible noise might be. When lightning flashes allowed the massive beast's form to be glimpsed against the night sky, the people began to panic. You heard cries to evacuate, others to stay and arm themselves. Others still called upon their neighbors to take shelter in their basements and hope that the militia will save them.
By the time you reached der Bolwerk, pandemonium reigned. Some hastily clamored their possessions into boxes and barrels on the backs of mule-driven carts or horse-driven wagons. Others arrived in den Rosplein, the large town square, wearing leather jerkins and crude bucklers, armed with old shortswords and halberds with worn hafts. Amonst a few men you might have seen a crossbow or two.
Across from the Old Kerk, outside a stout house with a pair of armed guards at his side stood a man who must be Erhard. He shouted orders at the militiamen before him, trying to organize them into ranks.
As you approached, a man came to Erhard's side. The man began arguing with him, their voices loud to overcome the noise of the rain and the monster's distant but deep bellow.
"Erhard, this is foolishness, no man can stand against that beast!" he says, his voice panicked. Erhard's reply is gruff "The Landwehr will defend Krestible! We will not falter!"
The other man, an older Flan gentleman clearly of noble heritage, continued "You don't understand! I know this beast! I have read of it in legends! It is called the Tarrasque, and no man, not even gods can slay it! We cannot fight it. The best we can hope to do is evacuate, flee to Schwartzenbruin and hope the monster sates itself on our crops and livestock. I beg you, Erhard, deploy the militia to the streets, evacuate the town!"
Erhard spat on the ground "Elias, you are a coward. Typical of a Weisspeer! No, we will assemble the militia, and we will head south to meet the beast head on, on the road itself. The Landwehr is five hundred men, we can defeat this... "Tarrasque" creature you fear so much."
Elias called out to the militia "Do not sacrifice your lives for stubborn arrogance! Go to your homes, to your families! Load up your carts and wagons, but leave your livestock and stores of food behind to slow the monster down. Take only what you need to make it to Schwartzenbruin, I beg you!"
Erhard shouted over Elias' voice "I command the Landwehr, and I order you to to assemble to prepare to attack the beast! Any man who runs now runs from his duty and his fellow citizen. Do not mark yourself a coward!"
As you finally got close enough to speak to him, Erhard spotted you and raised his mace to salute you. "You there, outlanders!" he called out, "Will you stand against this mighty beast, or run screaming into the night like cowards?"
Individuals of Note
Erhard - A Flan man in his late thirties, with a large frame standing over six feet in height. He has short dark brown hair and a thick beard. He is dress in a hastily donned breastplate, with a mace tied to his hip and a light steel shield on his left arm.
Elias - A thin and slight Flan man in his late thirties, with long black hair and brown eyes. His face is devoid of weathering or the other markers of a man his age, and his fine clothing mark him as a man of wealth and influence.
Bluff (1d20+7=17)
BLUFF! to be believed that i know what i am talking about
"My name is Morgaine Aria, servant of Mayaheine. I am happy lend my weapons to the defense of places like your city. But this strategy of yours is ridiculous, little more than selfish desire for glory at the cost of innocent lives."
But perhaps this man is correct and your foolish tactics are some rare species of military genius. If your explanation indicates otherwise, I shall go to the Old Kerk to seek the council of those wiser than myself. Perhaps you might do the same."
The young cleric awaited Erhard's response... and if he continued to insist upon his idiotic scheme, her feet would soon be carrying her to the priests of Pelor and Mayaheine.
Diplomacy (1d20+4=9) vs. Erhard
"Bah, as cowardly as a Weis-..."
The roar of the beast in the distance interrupted him. The terrifying noise shook all the men present. Even Erhard seemed to have the bravado taken out of him by the sound.
"It gets closer with each bellow," Erhard said, shuddering as he spoke "I... we... we must take action! We must evacuate the town!"
Elias nodded and looked to the militiamen assembled "You heard the man! Evacuate the town, instruct all you see to take only what they need for the journey to Schwartzenbruin, leave all other things behind! Go!"
The militiamen, appearing frightened but at least with a plan in mind, hurried off into the rain-swept night to organize the evacuation.
Before you could consider leaving to join them, however, Erhard spoke to the group of you directly.
"Adventurers, the beast gets closer. Too close for us to evacuate in time. It must be diverted away from the town, at least long enough to give us time to take flight in unison. I ask something... something I would never ask any of my own men, but you four seem to possess the bravery and wits to accomplish."
Erhard turned upwards, to his rooftop, shouting to a previously unseen man who sits atop the roof with a spyglass.
"Werner! How close is the beast now?"
Werner, the man with the spyglass, called back down.
"At the Kolstein homestead, sir. It ravages their flocks!"
Erhard shot a worried glance back to you, before calling back up to Werner.
"The Kolsteins? What of them?"
Werner called back in reply "On the road, sir, fleeing to the town on horseback. They will make it before the beast finishes their flocks, I think."
Erhard made a religious gesture to the Old Kerk. "Thank the Gods for small mercies."
He looked over to you again, sighing before speaking "I need the group of you to mount up and divert the beast away from the town. I can provide good warhorses for the task if you have none better. I would not ask you to engage it directly, merely agitate and make it give chase away from us. It is ponderous and slow, like a bear in springtime still awakening. Eventually, it will give up the chase in favor of more easy prey, like any beast. By then I hope we are long gone to Schwartzenbruin. You can meet us there, if the Gods smile on us all."
Erhard told Elias to go to the stables and fetch four warhorses, which the man does. He then turned back to you.
"Will you help us in such a dire time, heroes?"
"If your horses are up to the task, I'm willing to keep this beast occupied until the town is safe," said Morgaine, "but do you have any ideas on where exactly we should lead it?"
Morgaine paused for a moment.
"Annoying the creature enough to draw it away from the city may prove difficult. I'm good with a bow, but am not much of a marksman from horseback. Perhaps you have a few stout crossbows... or perhaps less conventional implements we might borrow to keep its attention while mounted?"
Three militiamen stepped forward and handed over their light crossbows and a pack of bolts to any who would take them.
"Many thanks, Erhard. As soon as we have a swift horse each, we shall be off and give you as much time as we can. May the Shield Maiden guard your path."
As she fastened the bolts to her path she looked to Gregory with a smile.
"Come now... do you think we can't outsmart this creature? We're delivering him to a hearty meal of goblins, and won't tarry long enough to end up in his gullet."
He now regarded his newfound allies; strangers less than an hour ago, and now possibly some of the last faces he would ever see. The cleric seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, if she was perhaps a bit naive. In any case, he was reassured to have the valor of this woman of God at his side. The elf he had dismissed as a drunkard and a coward, but to hear him so quickly offer his life to the defense of the village had amazed Kerner. Perhaps he had misjudged him.
Of the dwarf, he could discern little. The little man had remained quiet throughout the tense discussion, and Kerner wondered if perhaps he was as terrified at the prospect of what lay ahead as his companions pretended not to be.
Destiny awaits you, heroes.
Destiny, and quite possibly your own deaths.
When everyone is ready he spurs his horse into action riding towards the front gates and yells over his shoulder as he disapears into the gloom. "Remember, E flat minor!"
Lay of the land knowledge checks:
Seems i might know something after all!