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Chad

"I am all for it, I don't have much coin to my name so the sooner the better."

Nanoc tells Hilda I'll be back soon to sing you a tune. gets, up and saunters over. Yes, empty purses are curses. We should be away without delay.

The hum of conversation bubbles merrily along until the door bursts open and the broad chest of a towering, hard-muscled man looms large against the moonlight streaming in. He stands in the door long enough to canvass the room, consequently offering you a moment to examine him in return.

The man's mail is of rich make, alternating riveted and solid links trimmed with polished bronze rings at the neck, sleeves, and hem. A jeweled sword thrust into his belt and hammered silver bands on either arm denote great wealth. He grips a crested helm under one arm and waves over his shoulder to someone outside.

He steps forward and enters the fire's merry gleam. Long black hair, cut square over a heavy brow, frames a strong jaw and sun-browned cheeks. Bright blue eyes gleam in the flickering light as he advances to the bar. Three others file in behind him--all heavily armed and armored, though not quite as lavishly as their apparent leader.

One is a tall, lean elf, black-eyed and silver-haired. An intricately-carved longbow and finely-tooled quiver complement embossed leather armor. A dwarf enters next, his forge-scarred arms corded with muscle. Heavy plate and a two-handed hammer mark him as a formidable front-line warrior. A red beard tinged with gold sweeps to his stomach. The final entrant is a human woman. Her form is obscured by a dark robe that sweeps to the floor and her face is covered in complex tattooes. The most notable is an eagle's claw, the other a wolf's paw. Several smaller designs weave among them, and she grips a slender wooden staff in pale, fine-boned hands.

The group makes quite a display among the humble assemblage of locals as they fan out and occupy seats at the bar. "A round for the house," the big warrior calls and motions to the nearest serving maid. He places a thick, heavy gold coin on the bar and pushes it forward, then turns to survey the room a second time. "Let it never be said that Conall Dubh spends shaved coin. That one is fresh from the grasp of an undead wizard."

His tone is boastful, his eyes filled with mirth. "And there'll be more tomorrow night once we've cleaned out that tower and whatever lies beneath." It's clear that Conall is marking what he considers his territory and warning off other would-be adventurers.

Cecily speaks in a low voice to the rest gathered at the table: Maybe we'd better make our way to our destination now. She surveys the others at the table, trying to gauge their reactions.

"Agreed," Orrim says low but intensely. There is anger - and envy - in his voice. What are such successful adventurers doing here, trying to pilfer ... then he pauses. "But - what if we join with them?" he asks. "For my part, two or three can pilfer the secrets of the same single scroll. For the rest of us, a fat purse split more ways beats a slim purse split fewer. Who agrees?"

Nanoc nods. The early bird gets the best shiny things. Those folk don't strike me as the sharing kind. More like to use us to find traps and deadfalls.

Chad

Whispering,"Agreed, we should head out now."

Chad moves to get up and head out.

Orrim also rises and walks casually toward the door.

Cut scene to the dungeon soon?

Outside the tavern how's the weather? Orrim waits for his new companions. When they all are out in the street, with the door closed, he says:

"Listen - you got me thinking, Cecy. What if, instead of us breaking ground for them, we do it the other way? Let them lay down a path for us, and follow behind. When they're worn out, we take over."

Cecily handles her holy symbol as she ponders what her new friend has just suggested. Not a bad idea, Orrim. What do you all think? she says to the others.

Also, what time of day is it?

Chad

"Are we sneaky enough to try that? I am not very sneaky so they may figure out what we are doing pretty quick."

Thanks for being patient, guys. I'm struggling lately.

The weather is cool (about 55°F) and a gentle breeze blows in from the sea, broken up by the profiles of the closely-packed buildings looming over the street on either side. The moon is bright and high in the sky. You'd guess it's around 10pm. The town is fairly quiet around you.

A few drunken fishermen have spilled from the tavern to lurch home to angry wives, but otherwise there is nothing but the distant sighing of the waves on the shore and the gentle splash of seafoam on the black stones which line the cliff face.

You may take rooms and await the morning to venture out. You might follow the Innkeeper's directions and explore the cliffs where pirates are often spotted, or perhaps the ruins he mentioned nearby. Toward the north-east, you also see a tower thrusting above the town's silhouette. There are no lights in the lone window. It presides, mute and ominous, over the quiet fishing town.

A few lights flicker in the windows of houses on either side of the street. In some you see the shadows of the occupants going about their bedtime rituals or having a last pint. Somewhere nearby a baby cries--the wail of a hungry newborn. Over all is the pall of humanity, the smells of flesh, body heat, and refuse which accumulate between the gusts of sea-salt wind that carry it away.

Chad

"Lets head up now, I am eager to get going."

[Igber]
A young boy wrapped in a patched brown cloak with the hood pulled over his head slowly crept in the shadows to stand near the group. He whispered to the Human Cleric “Is it ok if I just stand near all of you for a moment?”

As the drunk fishermen left the Inn, the boy shifted his position to keep the party between him and the men. As they disappeared from view, he breathed a small [sigh] of relief.

Igber pulled back the hood and smiled at the young Acolyte. “Thanks.” His green eyes twinkled. “You like smoked fish? It’s really fresh.”

Morgath listens to the conversation of the converging adventurers intently, but keeps to himself for a time sipping a strongly brewed tea in lieu of any ale. He prefers his cozy corner of the taverns common room, but quickly decided if he would be a part of this intrepid group he would have to join them presently.
Though he doubted the wisdom of exploring the ruins at such an hour, he nonetheless followed after them. As they pondered the possibilities outside, he greeted them as amicably as possible.

I would join this expedition, no matter how ill-advised I consider it if you would have one such as I. I am Morgath, a student of Suthra Zantar, mastered by C'tl the great sorcerer. What say you?

Chad

"Sure, seems we could use some more help."

Orrim gazes placidly at the new compet comrade and reminds itself that scrolls can be shared for study. Magical trinkets, however, cannot ... it inhales deeply before greeting Morgath: "I am Orrim, of no repute. Welcome, fellow craft. We have another of our art." It waves a hand fluidly toward Rowanson. "Please, let us find some moments to compare our knowledge. Maybe there is something I can teach you, something I can learn from you." Does Orrim get another chance at learning any spells the other mages have that it lacks?