[Introduction] Duvik's Pass

[cjanini09]

A sickness has come unto the simple mining community of Duvik’s Pass, poisoning their wells and blighting their crops. With the pestilence leaving the strongest men of the town’s guard a few short days away from death, the burden of descending into the mines and purging the wellspring of whatever evil has settled there falls to a rugged group of adventurers, citizens and visitors alike.

Hope and industry turned to despair and potential ruin with the advent of the Burning Plague four months ago. It began quietly enough, with the miners returning home from their work at nightfall complaining of blistering sores and an unbearable thirst. Shortly thereafter, the town’s livestock was decimated by an unknown illness and her crops began to wither. The elders of Duvik’s Pass declared that the well water had been soured by an unknown disease, but by then the Burning Plague had already begun claiming the young and the sickly. To make matters worse, the last few men still strong enough to plumb the wealth of the mine fell prey to a savage attack staged by a warband of kobolds just over half a month past. This fact is not known to the townspeople, who continue to await the return of their missing sons and husbands, while praying for an end to the sickness that continues to spread within their home.

While the kobolds have claimed the majority of the mine from their human foes, they too have fallen prey to the Burning Plague. Already they have begun to suffer losses to its ravages. The source of the disease is Jakk of the Tornclaw clan, an orc shaman who seeks vengeance upon the people of Duvik’s Pass for an old wrong. It was ten years ago that Jakk saw his tribe slain by the humans of the valley. A young Jakk was one of the few of his clan to survive a concentrated effort by the militia of the Pass to eradicate the threats nesting in the mountains above. As the years passed, Jakk devoted his life to watching the men of Duvik’s Pass and their efforts and preparing his revenge. His prayers to Gruumsh One-Eye gave him resolve as he watched the “weak ones” steal the riches that should have been his clan’s. After the god revealed to him the secret of the Burning Plague, Jakk used his newfound power to infect the springs feeding the town’s wells as well as the other creatures dwelling within the mines. He has watched from the shadows as his plans have come to fruition.

Yet all has not gone as planned. Gruumsh, being a harsh deity who values strength above all things, has decided to test his disciple. Jakk has contracted the Burning Plague himself and has, despite his prayers, not been able to escape its grip. Although he grows near to death, the shaman will not rest until all of the peoples of the valley are laid low. He maintains his encampment by the springs below the earth, continuing to reinforce their corruption and awaiting an attempt to free the Pass from his hold.

OOC Feel free to introduce your character, and roleplay a bit. Ask around town for info on citizens, and any other things you feel important! This is purely a time for introduction and preliminary roleplaying! Enjoy!

[Yuul]

Dawn sees Marric awaken from his sleep as he rises from his bed in the room he rented. He had only come into town yesterday morning, but upon seeing the plight of the town had chosen to stay to see what help he could lend to the beleaguered townsfolk. After dressing and equipping his gear, not to mention assuring himself his hat was on properly the bard left the room and moved down the stairs into the inn's common room. He had done his best to stay clear of the town's water, thankfully having been forewarned to avoid it before he drank it. As he entered the common room a sad frown crossed his face. The sight of the nigh empty room was sorrowful. Before he left on his travels he had been raised in a tavern, it shouldn't be like this.

but unfortunately it was, and there was little he could do to stop it at the moment. He wished there was something he could do, but by himself and alone he was helpless to correct this grievous wrong. And who else was there? Not many to his knowledge. He finds himself sitting at the bar deep in thought of how one might end this terrible blight, there had to be a way, there was always a way!

[Baxder]

Grondel lumbers into the tavern using his urgrosh as a walking stick already; never a good sign. He grumbles to himself all the way to the bar, where he uses his impromptu staff to boost himself onto a stool, his armor jingling as he lights. Without a glance at Marric, he mumbles at the barkeep, Ale, unless tha's gone bad as well. He places the requisite amount on the bar for that and two more. An' keep 'em comin'... His speech descends into grumbles again, but something about no escorts...no miners...bloody thin-bloods... can be discerned amidst the babble.

[Yuul]

"Escorts for who? Nearly everyone is on their deathbeds or sadly soon to be unless something is done. I realize I may have just come into town yesterday, but I've stayed for a reason, surely there is something that can be done?" Marric said speaking up to the mumbling dwarf next to him. 'I refuse to believe that nothing can be done.' He repeated in his mind, the normally lighthearted bard's determination to try and find some way to stop this sickness practically exuding from him.

[onlie2005]

Sitting near the fireplace, knees brought up to her chest cradling a backpack was a little girl who seemed to be in a fetal position. Largely she was keeping to herself and her red face and ragged expression seem to indicate that she had been crying silently for some time. She had long, wavy, golden blonde hair and blue eyes and although short and small for her age looked to be around 11 to 12 years of age. The girl seemed rather well prepared for travel with her long sleeved blue shirt, brown pants, a pair of black boots and a comfortable hooded light blue cloak which partially concealed a shouldered light crossbow. There was a sheathed dagger and a quiver of crossbow bolts on her belt as well as a multipocketed large belt pouch.

The little girl largely kept to herself and talked to no one. She had been nursing a bit of a cough and seemed rather pale and tired but over the past few days this seemed to pass. In fact for those who had been observing her for the past few days, she seemed to be getting her color back and was getting stronger by the day. But emotionally she seemed spent. She had arrived at Duvik's Pass four months ago with her father but now she was alone. Her father had died of the plague and she had not.

[davide15]

After completing his morning prayers to the Watchful Protector some place outside, Shimpoodle comes to the tavern to do his daily bit of good, in this case creating 10 gallons of pure water so that both the healthy and the sick have something to drink. His spells for the day spent Shimpoodle sets down and starts to listen to the debate that has begun between the drinking dwarf and the sanctimonious human. "Seem's all we can do right now is give as much comfort to the sick as possible. And provide the dead with some dignity." Sticky pipes up. A somber sentiment from a gnome wearing a three-foot tall hat.

Sticky wanders over to the little girl, he's seen her before but she has rarely looked so Sad. Starts doing a little jig and chants "You know, I used to be 6 feet tall! It's true, too true!" He sings to the little girl. "But for the last 33 years my hat has grown an inch, and for each inch it grew I have shrunk one! Soon I will be nothing but a hat with legs!"

[Yuul]

Seeing the gnome's attempt at cheering the mournful girl in the corner by the fireplace Marric felt a bit of his optimism returning as he got up, straitened his hat, made sure his feather was balanced right, flared his cloak with a flourish and with his Perform(string instruments):

Dice Roll:

1d20+9

(1)+9

Total = 10

lute in hand picked up as best he could where the gnome had left off, though at a somewhat slower pace, a familiar smile spreading across his features, memories of home passing in front of his eyes. Although home may now be far away, perhaps bring even the slightest amount of its cheer to the town where he now stood, it certainly needed it...

[Sofinho]

The Duvik's Pass that Trethemwé encountered was not the bustling town that her father had told her about. As she ventured through the gates- manned only by a sickly looking peasant who barely acknowledged her- the devaststaion wrought by the plague was evident. An eerie stillness hung over the nearly deserted streets, and an acrid scent hung in the still air. Nevertheless, the young half-elf strode through the empty town square with confidence and purpose: this was to be the beginning of her adventure, the start of her legend. The srtides she was taking into the depressed community were her first tentative steps towards fame and- perhaps more importantly to her- fortune...

The slender figure continued to stride confidently through the town square, in search of a tavern. Word had got around about the plague afflicting Durvik's Pass, and that it was in need of bold adventurers. Otherwise the details had been sketchy: what had caused the devastation? Who had put out the call for aid? What was to be the reward? Sher knew from her father's tales and from her own limited experiences that taverns were always the best place to start.

Nearly all of father's stories begin in a tavern, she smiled to herself as she stepped up to the door. It creaked slightly as she pushed it open.

* * *
Trethemwé enters the tavern and is immediately underwhelmed. Pausing for a moment to take in the scene, she elects to address the smattering of patrons, though few have acknowledged her presence:

It is dead in here! Or am I being inappropriate?

Not getting an immediate answer, she positions herself at the bar, a little way down from Grundel and Marric.

So... you two seem like you might be here for the same reason as I, judging by your choice of attire... who do i speak to about getting in on the job? She winks in their general direction before calling for service: Any chance of getting me something that won't make my hair or teeth fall out?

[cjanini09]

The stout owner and full-time bartender, Derik, that ran "Gendrew's Gourmet Tavern and Inn" had dozed off temporarily, his burly snores echoing around the storage room's wooden walls, which over time had filled with rough holes and decay. Ever since the Village Elders had declared the pass's drinking water to be the cause of recent deaths, the quaint tavern's population had diminished substantially. This meant two things to Derik: One, if someone didn't solve the peculiar predicament soon, he'd be out of a job. And two, this provided numerous opportunities for one to catch up on lost sleep. So it is for this reason that Derik was fast asleep when Marric strolled in to the otherwise empty bar. This nap didn't last long, however, because soon he heard the tavern doors swing open, and a loud-mouthed gentleman began to slur off requests for ale.

"Who? What?! Derik stammered dazed and confused, as his eyes snapped open. He sat up to get oriented with his surroundings, and raising his pale large hands to his face, rubbed vigorously at his closed eyelids. Soon, Grondel's words were joined by the voice of Marric, not quite as obnoxious as the first, and both seeped through the gap in the door.

"Aye, I'll get ye' your ale. Finest around, I might add!" Derik chuckled quietly to himself, and grabbed two smudged mugs from a top shelf. Grasping them by the handles in one hand, he bent over and snagged a few bottles of the bitter alcohol. His hands now full, Derik made his way over to the weak door, and kicked it open. There, the two men that had taken a seat got their first good look at him. Derik was a human of roughly six feet. Aged well over sixty, what hair he had left was as white as snow. As he made his way over, they could see that he walked with a slight limp, typical of former soldiers or guards. He smiled, and looked directly at the two, revealing his dazzling blue eyes.

"Here ye' go gents! First one's on the house, but the coins on the counter there ought to cover the rest!" Derik winked slyly at the two patrons, smacked down the glasses and ale, and snatched up the few coins atop the counter. With customers present there was no time to doze off again, and he set to cleaning the sole dirty glass from the night before while attempting to strike up polite conversation, something that had mad him well respected by village citizens. "So, from the way you're equipped, I'd say that you're here to help out the small providence we call Duvik's Pass. Heard about the troubles, and come to save the day, eh? Well, ye' got my best wishes! Damn plague already took so many..."

Derik could here them continue their conversation, but he was tired and quickly lost interest. Deciding to give the rooms for rent a quick inspection, he set down the glass he'd been working on, turned and walked towards the hall. He was so tired that he hadn't even noticed the little girl seated by the fire. Nor did he notice the other adventurers entering soon after. "What a nice day," he thought to himself as he glanced out the window. "Well besides all of the death business..." With a frown, he plumped himself down on to one of the beds, and closed his eyes.

[Baxder]

Grondel, none too cheered by the bard's despariging comments or the Gnome's similarly morose mood, was about to scathe at the two who somehow saw a solution to the town's problems in trying to get some squatting urchin to giggle when Trethemwé took her seat. Deciding not to bring someone who actually looked like they had an ounce of purpose into the melancholy, he just turned back to the bar and sipped on his ale. First he nearly choked from the awful taste, then from the comment this fresh, confident-looking young lady had made.

Coughing and beating his chest, he smiled for the first time that day. Well, lass, *cough*, seems like the sad clown with the lute there could take a lesson er two from ye. I thought t'was his job ta be cheerin' us up! Having called attention to the bard, he finally noticed the...music...he was butchering. See here now, lad! Did ye get tha' thing from a gypsy? Seems ye migh've one o' them accursed things they love to sell on as gags fer yer hard earned gold! Yer abou' ta make my hair fall out, an' tha's a feat, sir! He finishes with a gesture to his head, which is all but completely obscured by his hair and beard. He turns back to Trethemwé, laughing heartily, apparantly feeling much better now that he had successfully complained about something.

[Yuul]

Marric frowned at the sound his lute was making, ceasing to play in favor of turning it upside down and give it a few taps on the bottom which seems to cause a small cloud of dust to fall from it, no doubt from the long road before reaching the town. After he was somewhat satisfied that there was no more dust and dirt hiding in his lute, he proceeded to carefully re-tune the instrument that he held in the greatest of sentimental value. It had been his first, a gift from the court musician who had first taught him to play so many years ago it seemed, at least to him. The young bard repeated the process three times, only stopping when he knew it to truly be in tune, a smile crossing his face. At least, until he remembered the dwarf's insults to his instrument.

"Now you can get angry as you want at me for messing up a few chords, but I will not abide your outright slanderous and outrageous slurs against Lucy! How dare you imply that she be of anything but the best of craftsmanship, not to mention your thuggish depictions of gypsies! I suppose a sot of a dwarf like yourself can't find anything better to do than going around an insulting ladies and other cultures?" Marric questions angrily, glaring at the thug in front of him, his hands almost cradling his lute, apparently named Lucy.

[Baxder]

Grondel turns back to Marric and grins a little viciously. Well, now, laddie, he says as he drops from his stool, holding his urgrosh over his shoulder, I certainly can find better things ta do, an' they'd do a lot more good fer this town than wha' yer sad attempt at playin' tha' thing has so far, eh? He eyes Marric for a moment before continuing. I'll make ya'a deal. I'll ne'er again insult yer precious Lucy if ye ne'er again impune me honor, especially concernin' me treatment of the gentler persuasion o'er wha' was nothin' more than a jest. Surely one o' yer profession shoulda' known the difference. He brings the head of his urgrosh down on his opposite hand, holding the weapon across his chest in a playfully threatening gesture. 'Course, we could set'le tha matter like proper gentlemen, if ye prefer.

[davide15]

Sticky giggles at the Dwarfs blustering attitude. "One should never argue with a dwarf, they tend to bring you down to their level and then beat you with experience. But for a little rough music and an jibed lute I don't think any real harm has been done. Besides I doubt good Derik would continue to serve drinks to louts who damaged his bar!" And with that he quickly moves over to a stool near the half-elf; "So what do you think my fair maid? Should we enjoy their drinks while these two manfully hack away at each others egos and other dangly bits?"

[Sofinho]

At the prospect of witnessing a dwarven fighter show off his skills Trethemwé has to fight very hard not to clap her hands together with excitement: quickly she realises that it might not be the best start to her new career. Bards had many uses apparently, and she was curious to see what Marric was bringing to the table. Besides, it all seemed in good humour so she thought she'd play along:

"Now now boys, play nicely! From the looks of things there's not many of us fighting fit in this town, the plague's done enough damage without us adding to the death toll!" She extends her hand to the gnome and announces herself:

"I'm Trethemwé, daughter of Askuth- and if I'm not mistaken, you must be Sticky. Or is it Shimpoodle? There's been a great deal of talk about you on the roads." Before he can answer, she catches sight of the diminuitive figure sitting by the fire place. "And this must be your..." wife? No wait... it's a little girl, idiot... "um... who's the child with the crossbow? And what's she crying about?"

[onlie2005]

Jessica managed a small, though tiny smile at the attempts at cheering up. In truth she was in no mood for festivities. And the growing tension between the dwarf and the bard made her want to leave the room immediately. The last thing she wanted was to get in the middle of a fight that did not concern her. Thankfully no fight happened so she continued to mind her own business. But soon she realized that one of them was about to get into her business. And she decided to get it out outright before things got a little too prodding for her tastes.

If you must know I just lost my dad to the plague. And I don't want to talk about it., she said a little too abruptly and defensively than she intended.