The Golden Tooth Tavern

[Alethan]

Earc nods, "It is the same tower. The goblins that inhabit it have been making a nuisance of themselves, and not just by killing foolhardy adventurers. They're raiding caravans now and leaving Gail short on supplies. That makes prices go up for all of us. The Duke of Gaul is offering a reward for whomever clears them out. And maybe returns some of the pilfered goods."

[Bluehorse]

Bianca

Perks up and turns enough to grasp Winnie's upper arm, gently getting her attention with a squeeze. Her eyes were wide, wordlessly giving her silent warning at Casper's inquiry. Only her close friend would recognize the old fear behind dark eyes. Bianca liked her secrets.

[Rusty Tincanne]

Winnie reassures Bianca with a squeeze of the hand and a nod. She gives her smiling attention to Casper and Earc, introducing herself and her shy friend. That sounds awful for the townspeople. It's not surprising you haven't heard of us. We've only just arrived with the last caravan. There isn't much to tell, really. Prospects in the southlands were slim for a pair of poor girls, so we came to Gaul. She shrugs, realizing there isn't much else to say about herself. Pretty boring, really. Sorry. But what about you two? Have you had many adventures? What have you two seen in these parts?


Sorry. Despite Bluehorse's post, I there really isn't much to tell. An elf, and a magic user with her dog.

[Bluehorse]

Bianca

She leans in to whisper to Winnie and points inside her teacup. "Are they really talking about going to that goblin tower?"

[Alethan]

Noting the hesitation, Earc speaks to the newcomers, as the party leader, with the experience of someone who has already spent several hard months in the wilderness surrounding Gaul.

"Look... this isn't something for the timid or feint of heart. If you plan on joining, you're sure to see things the likes of which you've not experienced before. Death - maybe someone you know, but hopefully just goblins - and blood and gore. There will be trials. And likely tribulations, too. And you'll be expected to pull your own weight - carry that what needs to be carried, fight when there's fighting that needs to be done, kill when there needs to be killing."

"If you aren't ready for that sort of thing, or you don't know if you can stomach killing, then... you shouldn't join the expedition. "

He pauses, wanting that to sink in. Then he speaks matter-of-factly, "Maybe it won't be as bad as that? But likely it will be. Those goblins are thieves and robbers and stealing from the travelers and citizens of Gaul. They won't give any quarter. And neither will we."

[Zhym]

"Trials?" says Olaf, brow furrowed. He wonders what a quarter is, and why he would trade them with goblins. "Like the Bremen church had? Too much talking, ye ask me."

"An' Pony carries me weight. Well, not me wait. Me stuff. That okay?"

[Bluehorse]

Bianca

Looks up for the first time directly at Earc and listens to his words. She remains silent a moment, her intensly intelligent stare that somehow conveys alertness and fear in ewual but determined quantities. She then turns her gaze to Winnie locking her in the same stare, if perhapse a bit softened. There seems to be a few silent words exchanged before Bianca points in the cup again, tilting her eyes with a stubbornly fixed jaw.

[Rusty Tincanne]

Winnie looks in the cup, then orders her friend another mug of tea. Death is merely the next, inevitable and necessary stage in life, for life feeds on life. Do not judge us to be faint of heart, Earc. As we enter this pact, it is plain to us that lives will be lost. Bianca and I will do what is within our power to make those lost lives goblin. And we will help carry back treasure for the group to split. Or responsibilities go beyond ourselves, for our share will help sustain our sisters through the winter.

[Bluehorse]

Bianca

Opens her mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it and nods, content with Winnie's words and nods firmly to the others. She hesitates a moment then turns her chair to join them properly just as her fresh cup of tea arrives. She makes it a point to stir the leaves in the one she finished before the barmaid can take it. Whatever there was of interest there is surely gone now.

[Alethan]

Earc nods. "Then welcome to the group. Pick up whatever supplies you need; we will be leaving soon. And be sure to enjoy your hot meal here; likely won't have too many of them after we leave."

[hedgeknight]

Winnie looks in the cup, then orders her friend another mug of tea. Death is merely the next, inevitable and necessary stage in life, for life feeds on life. Do not judge us to be faint of heart, Earc. As we enter this pact, it is plain to us that lives will be lost. Bianca and I will do what is within our power to make those lost lives goblin. And we will help carry back treasure for the group to split. Or responsibilities go beyond ourselves, for our share will help sustain our sisters through the winter.

Casper nods and smiles at Winnie's comments. "Ah, you speak well, milady. Gwanwen surely knows the value of life and death. For her followers, the blood is the life, and without the shedding of blood there can be no remission of sins or comfort of the soul.
"Which reminds me, I need to find a chicken or a young goat for sacrifice before we depart."

[Stirling]

Foxy O'Hare

in faith of a positive outcome to the dragon threats and to show the town has nothing to fear from "Scatha, this beast of rust", Foxy pays Mr Hyde another two weeks fare on the suite to bring her up to the present 15th July date.(-48sp taken from purse.)

[Marullus]

Lunchtime, July 15, 2021

Amidst the hub-bub of the Tavern's lunchtime crowds, a group of adventurers plans for their upcoming trip to Guhra's tower. The following is overheard, ears perking up in some interest as the Cleric of Gwanwen shares some local dwarvish lore...

Casper White has a lot on his mind, and he finds his companions talking about the upcoming expedition orders a mug of hard cider and quietly takes a chair. When there is a break in the conversation, he stands and clears his throat. "If I may, I have some information, from my studies, that may prove useful going forward." He sips from his mug and begins.

"Several folk in town, aye even in this room, bear ancient dwarven relics; some of which may compel others to either follow us...or fight us. Olaf, you will want to pay particular attention to all this. Halfpint currently wears the armor of Gardur, son of Jabal, nephew of Jarkul. Wearing this armor and carrying the horn of Jarkul, while bearing his banner, Gardur led a mighty dwarven host against the hold of Dreadlord Nystoraeth.
"I have discovered that the spear and its banner is currently being carried by Fingers McGraw, and the Horn of Jarkul was used by he and Halfpint's companions against the goblins and the dragon, isn't that right, milady?" Casper takes a sip of cider and continues.

"Thymur the Unmoveable was a staunch companion of Gardur, and he held the breach against the hordes of undead summoned by the necromancer, while also being assailed by an onslaught of spells. His war spear is currently in the possession of one named Corbin. Does anyone know of him and his whereabouts?"

"Grennus the Hound Slayer, a younger cousin of Thymur, gained honor to his own name during the long siege with his keen sight and crossbow. In the night, they would loose fire-breathing hounds of hell upon the siege lines and Grennus' keen eye made a game of this nightly pursuit, dispatching many of the creatures back to the planes they came from before they could harm a single dwarf. A man by the name of 'Silent' currently carries the crossbow, along with Gardur's shield. Do we know of this persons whereabouts?"

"Now, the battle turned when Dreadlord Zhint was slain. His fingers where chopped off and later taken to the dwarven king. I believe someone named Baxtaw was able to destroy the fingers of Zhint recently in a battle with Foxy O'Hare and companions.
More importantly, Baxtaw now wields Gaahk Harzuul, the wizard-cast longsword of General Kell Zaahl, warlord under Zhint. The bane of the dwarven host, this mighty warrior commanded legions of the dead for the necromancers and fought on the front lines against the dwarven heroes. The greatest horror and affront to the ancestors was his ability to deny the dwarven warriors their passage to the Great Halls - many of the dwarves he slew rose immediately under his command to turn on their kin, forcing dwarves to fight the ghastly forms of their own brothers and friends during the assault.
"My friends, we must find this sword."

"There are three items of power taken from that siege that must be accounted for. The Orb of Endless Suffering, used by Dreadlord Zhint himself to command the dead. This is an extremely powerful artifact, and it is currently in the possession of Clay Weatherwax.
The Soul-Tome of Dreadlord Zhint, into which the Dreadlord imbued a portion of his very soul and essence in horrible mockery of the gods and ancestors, that he might regain his power at a future time, is in the possession of Baxtaw. I fear that somehow, Dreadlord Zhint may return to this life should that tome fall into the wrong hands. It must be destroyed."
And finally, the Soul-Tome of the Arch Priest, Thanul. He was the chief luminary of the Dark Gods, and that tome bears part of his soul."
Casper opens the satchel on his side and removes a large worn tome and sets it on the table."I am its possessor and although I have only given it a cursory glance, I can tell you it is highly chaotic in nature. I wish to see it destroyed as well."

Casper drains his mug and sits back down, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself.

[Zhym]

"Don' care who says his great-great granpappy used to have my spear," grumbles Fingers under his breath. "It's mine. Can't pick up anything around here without some dwarf popping up to say he thinks it oughtta be his. Greedy little snits."

[hedgeknight]

"No one is trying to take your spear, good sir." Casper replies to the grumblings of the man called Fingers. "But...you do carry a piece of dwarven history. Might be they would pay good coin or trade something even better for the spear to return to their kin."

[Zhym]

Fingers whips his head back and forth, looking around for the "good sir" Caspar is talking to. No one ever calls him that, and he didn't realize he was talking loud enough for others to hear. Embarrassing, that, for someone whose business is being quiet and sneaky.

"I've had a piece of dwarven history before," he says when he realizes Caspar is talking to him. "The dwarves said I should just give it to 'em. An' after I had to fight goblins and stuff to get it! I was able to trade 'em instead, for this shiny"—Fingers shows a glimpse, under the table so not everyone can see, of a diamond he keeps in a pouch—"but they weren't thrilled about it. I don't wanna try that again. 'Sides, what are they gonna offer? More shinies? Fat lot that'd do me when something's trying to kill me."

[Spearmint]

July 15th Tavern lunch.

Amistad hears the wild tales of the farmer priest. He is more interested in the here and now and the on going building and further construction of his present logging empire.

"I have heard there is much to salvage in that old kobold tower. I would be happy to spend a few days to recover the equipment I need and also to help other folk dig out more leftover luxuries that these dwarves have laid aside so casually. My wagon and horse can be ready to leave on the morrow, if folk are interested to claim some rich pickings. 'Bowmaester' Fingers, you have explored this region before, will you scout for us?"

[Zhym]

"No, ya dope!" answers Fingers with his usual lack of tact. "Can't you tell I'm already getting a group together to do something else? You can come with us if you want, but I ain't going back to that kobold tower to fetch stuff the dwarves are just gonna say I have to give 'em anyway. They want their great great grandwhatever's special hairbrush, they can get it their own selves."

[Stirling]

mid -June

After sharing the plunder from the Goblin Halls expedition, Foxy raucously entertains the tavern with a blaggard's tales of derring-do and err ... self effacing triumphalism.

story in tribute forum.

[Marullus]

Flashback: in mid-June...
Foxy CHA for tale (9) [1d20] = 17
So, that's a failure of almost double.

Foxy's Tale:

Foxy O'Hare

Foxy drains half a flagon of ruby ale before tapping the tankard on the tavern bar to bring the room to order. She steps onto the middle of a round table and raises her finger in a 'hush' whisper sound.

"Gather round, noble townsfolk, adventurers, peasant and penitents, one and all. I will not regale you with some bardic sonnet, no ripping yarn, no lore of old. For this tale of derring-do, this saga of do-or-die, is yet being scripted in the annuals of legend, her chapters unfinished which your present heroes will pen with bloodied blade not inked quills.

Bold and brazen were the Risen Dead, which harassed the Southron caravans seeking to bleed dry Gaul of trade and flesh. Summoned by the necromantic evocation of Dread Zhint's fingers, through the urging of Monoc's puppet, the Fell-King of the Goblins.

Bold and brazen, we the company of heroes who harkened to your cry. Where were the knights in armour shining? the Templars vindicar? did Gaul not unleash those mercenary 'dogs of war'? Havoc was the cry but Gaul mustered only a vain trio of stable boys, who stout of heart took courage to follow the meekest and smallest in Halfpint, a hobbit of indefatigable faith. Together with Baxtaw the noted elven spell-blade, Griselda of the mountains with her dire bear and Earth priest Clay, all gathered under my lance and my unfurled pennons to trek to this tyrants nether-lair. No fanfare ushered our sojourn, we became as ghosts, as silhouettes against the twilight moon. Druid prayers intoned roots of death to snare stray wargs in strangling vines, we immolated countless raiders in a pyre enough to sooth even Sdubok's gloating and we stood our ground against a horde of rabid wolverines. We yielded not so much as an inch of ground. Time and again we took their charge as they cast tooth and claw to overwhelm the thin red line of our blood which we stood upon. You all heard the clarion call, yes even here in Gaul, the horn of vengeance and our just wrath sounded as the thunder in the sky. Summoned thus by the celestial glories, came warriors of yore to hedge our lives until every last dire beast lay skinned for the carrion crows.

The echo of battles also past caught the ear and fancies of some who claimed to be kindred spirits. Though they were not one heart with us at first for they came seeking to plunder our arms and neigh say our noble quest.

Blackhelm's? Blackheart's I say and so I did to their face, refusing to allow this chief of the greybeards to frisk and frolic as he pleased. I cautioned against his lack of wisdom but he wanted a tavern song at our expense. Only a requiem dirge his legacy now. His ire burned hot and his blood-thirst arose. It is true to their shame all my companions forsook me on the ridge, turning a blind eye to a dozen dwarven hefted mauls and cleaving axes. Alone I valiantly wielded my scimitar and I prevailed over them, slaying one and piercing another. A savage blow nearly cleaved my shoulder, see the scar I bear for Gaul. I relented from killing more fruitlessly as Clay sounded his horn again and brought these Dwarves to their senses and to their knees. My unbowed stand won their enduring respect and our priest intoned mercy for the slain one that he might live and serve as a vassal for the expedition and furthermore did the troop agree to stand as a 'wall of forlorn hope'. Their chief took a lock of my hair to swear his oath of allegiance upon. To redeem their pride and honour they provoked the wrath of the hobgoblin regiment at the palisade. They stood, they fought, they bled and they died, so that we few, we brave-heart few, entered the goblin secret crypts.

Our hirelings chose to fortify our rearguard, but the haven they thought was safe proved deadly. None who entered the Rex-trog cave came out alive. Death also stalked the halls we paced but Holy Words delivered us. Soon we came to a flight of stairs, down and down from mountain heights to the very dark roots of granite we delved, killing all who crossed our path. Should we have tenderness or thought of mercy on the Farrow's bane? No, for we slew left and right until at last we breached Dmukaz's temple. This priest of dark arts was beheaded and his acolytes nullified. Then we stormed the foul king's own inner sanctum. The lone dwarf held back to beat a war anthem on ancestral drums as we assaulted the hell chamber. A balcony of archers gave us a chorus of arrows but we retorted with critical shooting of our own. The mage cast a word to imprison the king in frozen animation and I ran a gauntlet of skeleton guards to skewer this green hag-king with his own balefire blade. Our dire bear clashed talon to fang with a mastiff from hell which breathed the very lava of the Abyss. But victorious we became, though not without loss for the Earth priest Clay succumbed to many blows, hacked and cloven into many pieces without pity. The Finger Bones of the Lich Zhint were turned to ashes in a purifying furnace. And then we prayed sincerely for our dearly departed.

As Beith and Gwanwen both confess in proverb, "unless a seed dies it remains but a seed, but if it dies it will grow much more fruitful." The celestial mercies again came to our aide and redeemed his life into this new badger reincarnation.

Alas the rhythm of the kettledrums was no victory reveille but a wake up call to that slime wrym Scatha. Crawling from his lair he came looking for both a feast and a fight. His fiery breath crisped the goblins who fled from his sight and his breath melted highgates of the purest gold into bubbling ripples of streaming tears. A lone gully dwarf, a kin-cousin, a Neanderthal clad only in loin cloths escaped the cells. He lead us out a maze of ruinous tunnels to breach the light once more. As we came upon our noble dead, desiring to build a lasting memorial to their sacrificial offering the dragon once more alighted. Black as the night sky and throbbing burnt red, it taunted those of us who could stand un-awed in its' presence. It gorged itself on the flesh of the dwarves and then commanded we give utterance to its desires. I offered it my golden shield to wear as a betrothal of peace but it sought no covenant with us save our death and destruction. With bow and blade we fought valiantly, blunting his talons and felling a canine tooth. It swallowed whole the gully dwarf with one mouthful and chomped him in one gulp. Body and bones masticated to dribble down the dragons jaw. He licked his lips dry of the dwarfs blood and asked for sweeter meats. Then the beast took flight and we too, hurried on our way. To warn Gaul and save her maidens.

This Scatha, this draconic wrym, descended upon our paths again and I took to entreat it once more but it cast a foul curse upon my mind and I was succumbed to numbness in my thoughts. My companions steadfast as ever, took to my care and nurtured me until I could have respite under the healing wings of Eruanna's dove.

And now Gaul calls once again, and where are the knights? where are the Templars true? I say by my own blood and bone, I will intercede once more and stand gallant upon the walls or at the vanguard with lance to joust with this creature and snuff out his blackened wretched heart. The flame that burns brightest is not of some scaly beast's vain boast but the beauty and virtue of our glorious maidens. Hell hath no greater fury, no cause more just, no passions burn brighter, than ours. 'The truth be known', I swear upon this dread blade, we will not fear."

running out of carousing words and thirsty Foxy finishes the grand embellishment of the expedition and downs the rest of her beer, raising her balefire scimitar and willing the green hue and tongues of fire to turn into ginger carroty fiery flames.

Foxy steps up onto the table, beginning what she hopes is a soul-stirring narration. There are some grumbles and gasps as she casts dispersion on the knights, the templars, Guardsmen, and even the mercenary camp. She is quite pleased with her brazen self-promotion, but the crowd begins to heckle her.

When she both insults the entire Blackhelm clan's honor and also reveals the deaths of so many of their number while she snuck away from battle, a table full of dwarves leaps up in rage and riot. "Blackhearts? BLACKHEARTS?" They shout as they rush the table on which she stands. Foxy pulls her sword, glowing with the sickly green balefire of the Infernal. She will it orange in her grasp, but the gasp of horror has already gone through the crowd, which rises in support of the dwarves.

Foxy's table is upended, a snag tearing her fancy stockings as she tumbles to the ground. Hyde is able to intercede long enough for Foxy to escape up the stairs to her room where she listens to the rage and tummult below.