Adventure 2b: Morning at Mountain's Edge

[Pulpatoon]

Drawn by the scent of fresh, crusty loaves Desmond pops into the bakery just as the first of the mornings baking pops out of the oven.

"There wouldn't happen to be a crust to spare for a poor hungry fellow in danger of wasting away from hunger?" he asks hopefully.
"No, and you're in no danger of wasting away," laughs the baker. "Now be off with you, honest folk need to earn a living."

Des shakes his head ruefully. It was worth a try anyway. He decides to head to the inn and see if there is anything left in the kettle over the fire. Maybe someone will be up and about with a tale to tell. If nothing else perhaps he can flirt with the barmaids.

The atmosphere of the Inn is thick with woodsmoke and the smell of sleeping bodies.

The Inn is an old longhouse. There is a fire pit in the middle, with raised floors to either side. The Inn's residents are still waking up and packing away their their sleep rolls while the Inn's servers move out tables for breakfast.



The Inn has been filling up for weeks now with travelers who can't go any further until the snows melt and open the pass through the mountains. There is an especially large crowd, this year, and the Inn is creaking with over-capacity.

As Des walks in, one of the servers, a stocky girl with a serious face named Embla, calls over to him. As she manhandles a table into position, she says, "Rill dinnint make it in, this morning—her babies got th' colic. Help us set up an there'll be porridge and beer f'r yer breakfast."

[DavetheLost]

Why, I'll be glad to help. I've never been one to turn down an offer of breakfast. I am sorry to hear the wee one has the colic.
So saying Des grabs a chair and begins to aid Embla in setting up for the day. The work is not unpleasant, despite his short stature, and the layout of the common room is familiar to him from frequent visits.

With order restored to the room he will take his bowl and cup and enjoy his breakfast while surveying the current crop of travelers.

[Pulpatoon]

One job leads to another, and a good two hours pass before Embla is satisfied that Des has earned his breakfast, but it's worth the wait. The porridge is thick and filling and laced with bits of smoked ham and apple. The beer is light and spicy, a breakfast brew from Kegton.

The lodgers are an eclectic crew—merchants and itinerants of every stripe from across the Olfdene who, for whatever reason, want to be among the first to make it through the pass and into the valley beyond. Some notable lodgers include:

A group of five young men and three young women who are traveling to the city of Rullwood to study and some sort of school there. These kids are an entertaining mix of naïveté, adolescent bravado, and parochial nerves.

There is a puppet-master who has been lodging here almost the entire winter season. He is a remarkable entertainer, and his wooden marionettes are beautifully crafted. The village children won't be the only ones sad to see him go.

There is a man from the far south who must be a cartographer. He arrived in town only a couple weeks ago, and has been busy taking in the sights, measuring elevations, asking people about average rainfall, snowfall, and the occurrence of drought, and making countless sketches of the layout of the village itself.

A local family is staying at the Inn, having let out their house to Imsigull, a rich merchant who has three heavily-laden carts laden with goods and locked up in a barn. Imsigull spends money freely, but is wearing out his welcome. He has taken up with the daughter of the village candlemaker, and the young woman seems to be the only one in town who doesn't realize that their affair will end the day the pass is declared open.

[DavetheLost]

Chores finally finished and breakfast eaten Des will join the puppet-master and try to cozen a few more tales and another lesson in working the puppets out of him. Even though the sight of the portly hallooing trying to work a puppet nearly as large as himself likely draws some snickers and catcalls, Des has the notion of carving himself a smaller set of puppets someday and putting on shows of his own.

[Pulpatoon]

The Puppet-Master, who likes to be called "Professor" when in a professional context, but is just Wesley in less formal times, warms easily to Des. He has spent a lot of time on the other side of the White Mountains, and has preformed for the halfling community there. "Yore folk luff a festiffal, and know a good story whun they hear one. Good wif tips, good wif grub. Haff'ings is alright wif me." He pulls out his puppets one at a time, pointing our elements of their craft, and telling stories about each one—why the Milkmaid has a notch out of her ear; the blind boy who carved the Genie's head; why the Aged Soldier was once re-painted thirteen times in once week. After awhile, he asks, "D'yu get letters from home? I wus hoping to go through yur folk's lands in Summer season, but I hear fings has been rough fur 'em wif th' Lards of Rullwood. You heerd anyfing about how they doing?"

[DavetheLost]

"I've heard naught from home since I took to the road. Goblins burnt our farm and there was little to hold me there with the hives gone. I have missed the trouble with Rullwood. It seems it might be wise of me to stay a while longer on this side of the mountains."

Des is wistful with thoughts of his lost home.

[Pulpatoon]

Wesley shrugs as he picks at a stubborn spot of the brocade coat of the Prince Disguised As a Peddler. "Sure to haff blown ofer by now. Who kin stay made of such a fine, jolly folk, eh?"

At this point, a loud cracking sounds splits the air, shaking the floorboards under Des' feet. This sound is greeted by a cheer from the inhabitants of the Inn—the ice is breaking! That sounds heralds the beginning of Spring, and means that the Pass will be open in a few weeks.

Wesley: "Oh, that does the heart good. It's been good to let a little dust settle on me shoulders, this winter. But it'll be just as good to be in front of a fresh audience, one as hasn't heard all me stories a dozen times ofer."

[bislab]

The door to the inn is opened, letting the cool wind of the day stir the embers in the fire pit. Framed in the morning light is a young man, short of stature with long black hair tied back with leather cord. Though dirty and torn in places, his clothing is expertly sewn of the fur and skins from many small creatures. He carries a brace of hares, cleaned and ready for a cook pot. Approaching the owner of the establishment the young man barters his rabbits for something warm and a spot by the fire.

[DavetheLost]

Des looks up at the newcomer and licks his lips at the sight of the rabbits. "Well, Wesley, it looks like the ice has broken just in time to bring you fresh ears for your stories."

Turning to the newcomer, "Here, come have a seat by the fire. I'm Des and this here's the Professor, a fine spinner of yarns. You look as though you might have a tale or two yourself, why not come share them?"

[Pulpatoon]

As the newcomer steps into the better lighting at the center of the Inn, Des recognizes his close friend, Mournath. He made the boy's acquaintance not long after settling in Stoat, and has shared a few minor adventures with him, including helping him deal with the local wolf population.

Mournath earns a few coppers for his rabbits, most of which is already spent on repairing some of his worn out gear. But he has enough left over for a comfortable day's eating and entertaining in town, and to invite his friends.

[Pulpatoon]

Even as the friends greet each other, the door of the Inn darkens again, and in walks an unusual sight: two men in armor, carrying spears. The armor, which most prominently features silver-colored breastplates and grieves, is highly decorative with etched filigree, and accented with a soft red cloth, like velvet, that speaks of luxury more than war. They do not carry their spears with an aggressive attitude, but it is alarming nonetheless, and conversation in the inn cuts off with a gasp.

The cartographer hurries over to the men, and the three of them retire to a corner in hushed cnversation.

[bislab]

Taking a seat by his friend, Mournath wonders at the armed men who have just entered. Does their regalia seem familiar in any way?

[Pulpatoon]

bislab: Let's have an INT check: roll under your INT on a d20. Add any relevant skills to your INT (like, say, heraldry, or something).

[bislab]

bislab: Let's have an INT check: roll under your INT on a d20. Add any relevant skills to your INT (like, say, heraldry, or something).

Int check [1d20] = 1

INT is 11

[Pulpatoon]

To all: Below is some text in a spoilers-box for bislab. It is my preference that, when I present information to a specific player, only they read it and relate, in character, its contents to the others. If the temptation is too strong, I could always pm private information, but I like having everything in one place, for relative ease of reference.

bislab:

You recall hearing descriptions of this sort of armor, worn long ago by soldiers and nobility from the far off city of Tallinmar.

Tallinmar sits far south, near the belly of the world, on the edge of the world-spanning river known as the Southron Sea. The stories are that is was founded by a race out of fairie, the Sea Elves, who rode impossible ships and titanic fish. Once, Tallinmar was the seat of empire, and ruled over all of the Olfdene, and beyond. They built outposts and roads, some of which still stand to this day. In fact, the ruins of one such outpost stands along the mountain pass.

There was no great event that signaled the end of the Tallinmar Empire. It just seemed to fade away, a few hundred years ago. No one has seen such soldiers in a long time.

[DavetheLost]

"They are no one that I can imideately bring to mind, but they look like they know there business well enough." says Des, pondering the possibility of slipping quietly beneath the table.

[bislab]

That armor.... I have memories of it's like from stories of old. Of faerie kingdoms far to the south ruled by the Sea Elves. The armor looks Tallinmarian but these are no Elves, these are men. Looters of a bygone people, perhaps? says Mournath to his friend.

[Pulpatoon]

The armored men and the cartographer bring their conversation to a close, and all three stand up and head out of the Inn.

Embla swoops over and says in an excited whisper, "Did you see those two fancy jacks? Looks like we have some fresh money in town!"

[bislab]

Intrigued, Mournath waits a moment, then follows the men out. I'd like to blend into what crowd there might be out here and follow at a distance hoping to see where they are headed or to over hear a bit of conversation

[Pulpatoon]

Given how well you know the town, and what an unusual sight they are, I'm going to say that following the armored men is a free action (no roll needed). Getting close enough to hear their conversation without being observed, however, will require a check. Given that this is a social situation, involving blending in with a crowd more than, say, skulking in shadows, we'll make it a WIS check, but you can apply any sneaky-type skill bonuses to it.