Adventures In Hyboria IC: The Lost Mine

[Tattooedman]

Everyone:

After spending several days traveling all of you find yourselves in the town of Lut Golen, specifically in the Seven Drunken Knights Tavern where there is the usual assortment of road weary travelers and dedicated drinkers. You've gotten seats and drinks, washing the dust from your throats your travels have given you. The atmosphere in the tavern is good, with a bard playing a wide selection of songs while the barmaids keep the drinks flowing, delivering them with a friendly smile.

Map for reference as to where in Hyboria you all are.


Map of Lut Golen

--
Again, sorry for the delay. Let the game begin!

[Doctor Malsyn]

"Lord Tully"
HP 18/18 | AC: 14 | Init: +2 | Perception: 11
-Spell Slots: 3/3
--Sorcery Points: 2/2
---Inspiration: None
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

As the group was finding their seats, it was only natural of one of them to try and seat himself at it's head as just as he'd done for the last century and a half. The chair he found himself in was very fitting for the meticulously groomed dwarf, darker with more nicks then the rest with signs of having been sanded down several times over. Tiberium Tullium Avarice, the very same Lord of House Avarice itself, had never once tried to hide his status from the company he found himself in. Nor did he flaunt it either, mirthfully insisting on the name of 'Lord Tully' if they dearly felt themselves inclined towards formalities.

His chair creaked as he let himself relax into it with a sigh, very appreciative of a chance to rest his ancient bones for a moment or two more. His deep voice told more of his time in the courts of his kingdom then records ever could with how smoothly words flowed one after another. "If I have to spend one more night out in the freezing rain one more night, then by Moradin's great big bushy eyebrows I'd certainly catch a dog's death."

When he turned his attention to the barmaid, the corners of his eyes crinkled and he gave her a warm smile from under his silk-smooth beard. "Fair girl, hot meals and stiff drinks all around for my companions. My pockets are in need another lightening."

[stavaros_the_arcane]

Anne Natomi
HP: 14 AC: 13/Mage Armor 16. Passive Perception: 11 Initiative: +3
Spell slots 3/3

The large Black Bird lands on the table and hops over several places until its right near Lord Tully. "Great Bushy Eyebrows. Pockets need lightening." It croaked, looking at the Dwarf as if expecting something.

A voice comes from below the table. "Beaker! Stop bothering Lord Tully for shiny things!"
Anne Natomi struggled up onto her seat, the young Gnomish Woman elevated enough that she could look at her fellow travelers now.

Quoth the Raven. "Shiny things"

Anne wasn't amused "Damn it Beaker, enough Shenanigans. Get over here."

"Shenanigans." Beaker croaked back, the familiar clearly amused with himself.

Anne let out a groan. "Get a Raven familiar, I said. It'll be useful, I said.It fits my aesthetic, I said. Ugh, bothersome bird."

[Flynnarrel]

Lan, Messenger-monk of Phandelver

Lan shrugs the weatherproof messenger's bag from her shoulder, the weight off is both a relief and a notable absence and loss. Such is the balance of things.

She straightens her red-robes, as much a symbol of trustworthiness as a uniform and lays the bag on the bar. Getting the innkeeper's attention her soft, measured voice begins a standard script. "Small Deliveries and personal correspondence for the general residents of... Lut Golen. Delivered to the keeping of Seven Drunken Knight's Tavern. As standard, residents can come to this establishment and give name and papers or witnesses for identification if not immediately recognized and receive whatever parcels are marked with their name, and description if indicated by sender. A stipend for this service and any inconvenience to this establishment is included in the pouch." The stipend was small, most inns and taverns were happy to be THE place people had to come to for mail, it was easy to convince the recipient to buy a drink, since they were here anyway.

"Please sign or mark to acknowledge receipt." Lan produces an official Bill of Transit, short quill nub, and small vial of colored ink and presents them to the barkeeper as well as an inventory of what is in the pouch for him to verify and sign for the records. In her experience almost no one ever went through and verified everything. There were drinks to be served and patrons clamoring for attention. Still, rules were rules.

She also [GM plot device if wanted] had packages and letters that whatever sender paid extra to have hand delivered. She'd have to go out the next morning and find these people or places. Such was a messenger-monk's life.

Only after her official duty was discharged for the evening could she go and join her erstwhile traveling companions, some of whom she was still 'meeting' for the first time. She knew the contracted guide, Jarrak, had a niece in Phandelver but hadn't had occasion to meet the girl until now. Turns out she was a Junior Lorist that Lan had delivered packages to at the Sacred Library. There were others she recognized in passing.

She'd returned in time to hear the old dwarf offer hot meals all around and gave a bow of thanks. "Much gratitude Honored Lord." she says formally before taking a seat near her friend, Kiara [if she's here]. She sits in the chair somewhat stiffly with only a slight slouch of the shoulders to indicate any relaxation.

"We are taught the cold rain sharpens the mind and focuses the thoughts.... At least that's what an older monk I traveled with, Gertrude, always says. But I think her dwarven hardiness had much to do with that viewpoint. I'm just usually left with wet socks." Lan slyly watches Jarrak for a reaction when Gertrude's name is mentioned. She also can't help but be curious which, if any, of those words would be mimicked by the Raven.

[Doctor Malsyn]

"Lord Tully"
HP 18/18 | AC: 14 | Init: +2 | Perception: 11
-Spell Slots: 3/3
--Sorcery Points: 2/2
---Inspiration: None
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

"let me tell you a Dwarven secret, that famous ' hardiness' is really only good up until your seccondth century. It's all downhill after that." He remarks, hand digging around one of his previously mentioned pockets to pull out a silver piece. "Now there Annie, it's no good to stifle a mind such as his. Always keep your closest companions well rewarded."

Tully holds the small coin between two fingers, stairing intently into Beaker's eyes searching for some hidden signal. Then seemingly without warning he flicks it up into the air with ease.

[Spectrum]

Jack

The coin is flipped into the air...

A shimmery golden hand sudden appears and catches it palm down
Just a second of a fist.. before the coin slips up from between the middle fingers and then begins to roll, from the center of the hand to the pink and the back again, across the top of the hand to the thumb.
The hand shifts again, the coin held proudly between index finger and thumb,

shake...
shake...
shake..

the hand closes again before reopening, the coin nowhere to be seen.

[Vivid]

Abigail Bright, Junior Lorist
AC:17 (Scale+Dex+Shield) | HP: 17 | Init +2 | Passive Perception: 13
Spell slots 3x1st | Bardic Inspiration 4

How did people do this?!

Abigail pulls again at the collar of the Splint mail she wore. It was only ever stifling hot or freezing cold. It was chaffing in areas that were never meant to be chaffed. And days of travel! She'd never walked so much in her life! Even as a little girl she usually rode in her family's troubadour cart when they traveled the distances between cities.

She clanked as she came through the door. She clinked as she slid her adventurer's pack off and set her chest next to the table. There was an avalanche of metal scrapes as she slid heavily into a chair. Then there was a soft grunt of frustration as the rapier strapped at her waist caught on the furniture and she tiredly unstrapped it just to sit. She patted at the metal scales of the armor she wore, smoothing them as if they were a blouse or corset and she wanted to remain fashionable. And she slumped wearily resting her head upon the table.

Oh, they told her she didn't have to wear her armor all the time they were traveling. Some may have even connected that it was a distant memory of a caravan attack long ago that fueled her stubborness and the reason she donned it after meditations each morning (changing from the protective leathers she slept in). She did accept help carrying some of her gear when the miles wore on her and she threatened to slow the group's pace. But otherwise she was silent and uncomplaining, keeping a stiff upper lip and a stoicism the senior archivists would have admired.

With a deep breath in that seemed to inflate her like a bellows she straightened in her seat taking the nearly chest and setting it on the table.

From around her neck she drew the broken end of a key whose teeth end had been twisted off. She held it to the lock and worked magics to Mend the key part she held with the part jammed inside the padlock on the chest. In a minute she could open it and check that they waterproofing on the chest had held against last night's dampness and that the papers and books were unharmed by the humidity. Satisfied in their preservation she'll relock the chest and twist the key at an awkward angle it was not designed for and the key snapped off again.

This duty to Knowledge satisfied she again set the chest down and resumed laying her head on the table.

"Are we there yet?" she says jokingly.

[stavaros_the_arcane]

Lan, Messenger-monk of Phandelver

"We are taught the cold rain sharpens the mind and focuses the thoughts.... At least that's what an older monk I traveled with, Gertrude, always says. But I think her dwarven hardiness had much to do with that viewpoint. I'm just usually left with wet socks." Lan slyly watches Jarrak for a reaction when Gertrude's name is mentioned. She also can't help but be curious which, if any, of those words would be mimicked by the Raven.

"Left with Wet Socks." Beaker Croaked.

"Lord Tully"

"let me tell you a Dwarven secret, that famous ' hardiness' is really only good up until your seccondth century. It's all downhill after that." He remarks, hand digging around one of his previously mentioned pockets to pull out a silver piece. "Now there Annie, it's no good to stifle a mind such as his. Always keep your closest companions well rewarded."

Tully holds the small coin between two fingers, stairing intently into Beaker's eyes searching for some hidden signal. Then seemingly without warning he flicks it up into the air with ease.

Anne sighs, "I know, but if don't try to curb his mischief he'll push it too far one of these days."

Beaker's eyes follow the arc of the coin, as if ready to snatch it out of the air with his beak.

Jack

The coin is flipped into the air...

A shimmery golden hand sudden appears and catches it palm down
Just a second of a fist.. before the coin slips up from between the middle fingers and then begins to roll, from the center of the hand to the pink and the back again, across the top of the hand to the thumb.
The hand shifts again, the coin held proudly between index finger and thumb,

shake...
shake...
shake..

the hand closes again before reopening, the coin nowhere to be seen.

...only to be beaten to the punch.

"My Shiny!" Beaker caws in alarm and indignation. "Thief thief! Return the Shiny!"
This trickery very much ruffled his feathers.

Abigail Bright, Junior Lorist
AC:17 (Scale+Dex+Shield) | HP: 17 | Init +2 | Passive Perception: 13
Spell slots 3x1st | Bardic Inspiration 4

With a deep breath in that seemed to inflate her like a bellows she straightened in her seat taking the nearly chest and setting it on the table.

From around her neck she drew the broken end of a key whose teeth end had been twisted off. She held it to the lock and worked magics to Mend the key part she held with the part jammed inside the padlock on the chest. In a minute she could open it and check that they waterproofing on the chest had held against last night's dampness and that the papers and books were unharmed by the humidity. Satisfied in their preservation she'll relock the chest and twist the key at an awkward angle it was not designed for and the key snapped off again.

This duty to Knowledge satisfied she again set the chest down and resumed laying her head on the table.

"Are we there yet?" she says jokingly.

Anne smiled at her book buddy. "See this is why I learned to use magic to carry my stuff." Unseen Servant was a gods-send of a ritual. "You holding up alright Abby?"

[Doctor Malsyn]

"Lord Tully"
HP 18/18 | AC: 14 | Init: +2 | Perception: 11
-Spell Slots: 3/3
--Sorcery Points: 2/2
---Inspiration: None
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

"Ach, now come on now Jackie boy! You can't just string the bird along like that, else you want to end up with something real unpleasent in your drink. Trust me, I know how ornery birds like him can get." Tully chided the trickster, though the way his eyes twinkled in the candlelight told of amusement just below the surface.

[Arkrite]

Jarrak of Blackmoore

The cool November air blew through the streets, sweeping through the stalls, the carts, and the people, and tugging at his traveling cloak, running down the back of his neck and sending a chill through him.

He loved the roads, the traveling and the people, but as he saw the Tavern come into sight he felt the need to spend a few days in one place. Let his legs and his aching feet rest, have a nice warm bed, a meal he hadn't had to cook himself. Good ale, good entertainment, and a honest bit of rest.

He fought the smile creeping onto his face. If he lasted more than five days in Lut Golen before the road starting calling to him, he'd be shocked.

Leaning on his beaten old walking stick, he limped up to the doors, pausing only to dust the worst of the road dust caked to his clothes before stepping in.

A force of habit sent his eyes scanning the room. His eyes lingered on the people with weapons, the doors, the windows, and finished with the bard. The old warhorse in him demanded to know what threats might be in wait, but the performer in him wanted to know the fastest escape route if the crowd got ugly. He smiled and nodded to the bard, then gave Lan a quick glance as she went to conduct her business before making his way over to the table.

With a practiced ease he stood to attention, and brought his fist to his chest, hanging just over his heart, "Clan Holdmountain greets Clan Leader Avarice. May your halls ring with the sounds of prosperity, and long may your clan thrive."

Perhaps a little over the top, but it was important to show respect amongst the clans, and with nobility. Largely it was wise for anybody who wasn't a noble themselves to show respect to the nobility, even if they did have a very good reputation.

Moving to find his seat he eased his large pack down off his shoulders and struggled to keep it from crashing to the ground, finally easing it down next to the wall. A few careful twists and pulls and he'd retrieved a few small packages and pouches.

By the time he'd managed to sort his stuff, store his gear, and neatly maneuver his sword out of the way as he took his seat he'd found Lan had already beat him to the table.

"We are taught the cold rain sharpens the mind and focuses the thoughts.... At least that's what an older monk I traveled with, Gertrude, always says. But I think her dwarven hardiness had much to do with that viewpoint. I'm just usually left with wet socks." Lan slyly watches Jarrak for a reaction when Gertrude's name is mentioned. She also can't help but be curious which, if any, of those words would be mimicked by the Raven.

Jarrak threw his head back and laughed, pausing to wipe away a tear, "Ah, now that brings back memories."

Growing up with dwarves he found that they if he complained they'd increase his workload to work off the weakness. If he didn't complain it compelled them to work harder to prove that they were tougher than the half-elf boy, which by proxy increased his own workload. You were damned if you did, and damned if you didn't.

"You, my friend, need better boots if you're going to walk with that one. She'll walk you into the ground with a wink and a smile on her face," He chuckled, shaking his head.

"let me tell you a Dwarven secret, that famous ' hardiness' is really only good up until your seccondth century. It's all downhill after that." He remarks

Jarrek just smiles, keeping his mouth shut, but shooting Lan a little shake of his head when Tully isn't looking.

Anne smiled at her book buddy. "See this is why I learned to use magic to carry my stuff." Unseen Servant was a gods-send of a ritual. "You holding up alright Abby?"

Jarrak smiles to Anne, "She'll be fine, with a bit of a cheer up present."

Carefully he shifts a small book shaped package wrapped in canvas, and a couple small pouches over to sit in front of Abigail.

"Found this on my travels. The pages have seen far better days, and the farmer who sold it to me couldn't for the life of him tell me what language it was written in, but it looked quite interesting," He pointed to the smaller bags, "And a few little treats. Some honey taffey, and mint drops."

"Ach, now come on now Jackie boy! You can't just string the bird along like that, else you want to end up with something real unpleasent in your drink. Trust me, I know how ornery birds like him can get." Tully chided the trickster, though the way his eyes twinkled in the candlelight told of amusement just below the surface.

"Best listen to Lord Avarice, Jack," He says, taking up his drink and then gesturing to beaker, "These birds are terribly intelligent, and I've seen them teach other Ravens to pester people they don't like. Amazing to watch, but I most certainly wouldn't want to be the target."

[Doctor Malsyn]

"Lord Tully"
HP 18/18 | AC: 14 | Init: +2 | Perception: 11
-Spell Slots: 3/3
--Sorcery Points: 2/2
---Inspiration: None
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

A rough hand waves dismissively at the elfling boy who grew up to be a man just as world-weary as he. In his other he taps his staff against the wooden floorboards while he speaks in a chastising tone. "I don't want any of that while we're traveling like this Jarrack, told you that before and I'll tell you again. Now Annie! She's a right proper girl who knows how to call an old coot such as myself. It's Tully, or Lord Tully if you absolutely must."

[Flynnarrel]

Lan

The monk watches the banter with amusement. "If such is the case, Lord Av... err... Tully, then you mustn't be a day over 170, your steps still have quite the spring to them still."

Her own eyes follow the coin, tracking at what time she would reach out and snatch it were she so inclined. She judged she would have been a hair late as the... odd half-elf was both quick and wily. She wondered what his story was but refrained from asking. The young man had a... wyld look about him but she wasn't ready to cook that cup of rice yet.

She looks with some concern at the armored form of the librarian in the number. This was Jarrak's niece? Admittedly, she was clever enough, that key thing was an amazing idea! She watches with interest as the treats and gift are slid over. Maybe that would do the trick. Lan couldn't recall anyone offering her such treats... in the entirety of her life. Even rewards at the temple were more a release of the physical rigors than actual sweets. There *was* a time she was given a teaspoon of honey in her rice. That was something! Master Chiun was generous that day, and Master Leaf allowed it.

She turns her head from reminiscing and the talk of the Raven reminded her that her own spirit animal, Kai, in owl form, was outside watching the street with orders to alert her if there was trouble. She looks to the gnome lass. "So... Anne, was it? I have seen you around CoRN, have I not? What brings a Necromancer this far out?" She asks, curiously.

[stavaros_the_arcane]

Lan

She turns her head from reminiscing and the talk of the Raven reminded her that her own spirit animal, Kai, in owl form, was outside watching the street with orders to alert her if there was trouble. She looks to the gnome lass. "So... Anne, was it? I have seen you around CoRN, have I not? What brings a Necromancer this far out?" She asks, curiously.

Anne looks up to the monk addressing her, trying to place her. "Yes, I think I've seen you as well... you've made deliveries to several of the senior members of the University's chapter of the Conclave. You were the one that brought Professor Kryptofksy that Grimoire he ordered a few months back. As for your question, I'm out here to meet my practical experience requirements before I can get to work on my Thesis for my Magister's Degree. Professor Lichmann said that while I have a strong theory base, I need to get some real world practice in magical application. It's supposed to be the best way to expand both my personal knowledge base and my magical capacity. Plus how could I say no to a road-trip?"

[Spectrum]

The Silver Hand!

The Silver Hand tilts to the side, as if asking a question? A point towards Anne and tilts again, asking another question. It starts to fly on over towards the woman, before turning back and looking to the raven, and then back towards Anne.

Jack, watching for the decision from the black bird, continues on, moving to 'pluck' the coin from behind Anne's ear and tosses it back on over towards Beaker.

"Aww, relax. Just having a bit of fun with the bird." His eyes flashing out across the gathering. "No harm meant, no harm at all."

[Vivid]

Abigail Bright, Junior Lorist
AC:17 (Scale+Dex+Shield) | HP: 17 | Init +2 | Passive Perception: 13
Spell slots 3x1st | Bardic Inspiration 4

It takes a bit before the talk of sweets even registers on her road-weary brain.

Abigail huffs out a breath against the table as she hears Anne give her reasons for traveling. "Yay for organizations having practicum and 'field experience' requirements. This too, is why I am enjoying the bracing Autumnal nocturnal rains." she raises her head from where it was resting on her arm and her whole forehead and one cheek has scale mail indentations. She seems unaware of her reptilian appearance.

Her eyes alight upon the bags and wrapped book. She smiles and looks up gratefully at the older half-elf. "[Dwarven]May the rock be ever firm under your feet. [Elven] And may the flowers smell ever sweet in your presence." she says, giving two traditional blessings from those cultures and slips off her armored gloves.

She opens the mint drop bag and inhales luxuriously, "Oh uncle, these smell divine!" the acolyte says. She takes one then passes the bag to Anne indicating that it should make the circuit of the table. "Beaker probably shouldn't have any of the taffy, though it may be interesting to keep his beak glued shut with the confection." She does note the floating hand. "That would be useful for getting books off high shelves, I'm climbing up and down ladders all day when I work in the Cloud and Storm Giant histories. There's no book under 20 feet high on the subject and Professor Rafferty assigned a paper on the subject to first years at the end of last semester. And they say Archivists don't have a sense of humor."

The taffy bag she opens and withdraws one then offers the bag to Lord Tully.

With those making the rounds she pops both treats into her mouth. Leave it Uncle Jarrak to recall her favorite combination.

Chewing happily she seems to set aside her weariness and unwraps the book, carefully examining the contents.

[Arkrite, did you have any plans or suggestions for the book. Or had you wanted to open a potential plot device for the GM with it? Also, you don't have Jarrak's Languages listed but based on background I assume Common, Elven, and Dwarven]