[Introduction] The Yawning Portal - The Called

[GleefulNihilism]

So You're All Sitting In a Tavern... How many of the old stories start in places like this? Old tucked away Taverns where the ale was cheap, the food was passable, and the plans to make fame and fortune made plentifully. So this begins like so many of these stories begin, in a Tavern. Except this isn't just any Tavern. The Yawning Portal in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep might just be the most famous, and not to mention the largest, Tavern and Inn in the Material Plane. Fitting for being in the largest known city on the material plane, so close to Castle Waterdeep to boot. 6 floors if you cound the basement levels, the upper three entirely made up for rooms, the ground floor and the two basement levels making up the Tavern space. The Yawning Portal's namesake sits as an omnious hole in the middle, waiting as if it knows it doesn't need to cast a lure as it's prey will all come eventually. Candles do their best to keep everything lit along with a massive fireplace, the strongest light being what pours in from the kitchens. And, as always, there didn't quite seem to be enough table space. Loud, but not so much that one couldn't have a conversation - just enough to tell that the excitement in the air was not in anyone's imagination. Ironically, he was known Durnan the Wanderer in an earlier part of his life, but now he's just Durnan. He carries himself like an old barkeep but don't let that fool you. Durnan owns the place and that's not exactly a secret. It doesn't seem to have emotionally connected that he's very rich as a result, not that he can't think of occasional uses for that money. It also wasn't really a secret that the gruff and blunt Durnan used to be an Adventurer himself though now he considers himself too old to live that life anymore. What his speciality actually was is something hotly debated, usually the only agreement is "not a spellcaster". What else wasn't exactly a secret was that Durnan viewed it as part of his responsibility as the owner of the Yawning Portal to keep Death by Undermountain-Related Stupidity to a minimum. In the center of the lowest level is what looks like a massive stone well - at least 40 feet across while only about 3 feet tall. The only exception is a wooden platform that ends in a robe/pulley/bucket system. A group of four adventurers were currently pouring over gear and maps, last minute checks. A fifth, an elven man in full leather woodsy-toned armor comes by with Durnan who looks everything over - and just gives a nod before stepping toward the platform. None of those 5 are you. You've been seated in an area apparently reserved for people called "The Called" by the staff. That might be an insult depending on the tone it's said with, but the gist isn't hard to figure out. Could be adventurers, wanna-be adventurers - maybe you just have the potential and tripped their senses by accident but the gist is the same. The staff of the Yawning Portal thinks you're not ready for the Undermountain even if you wanted to be. Durnan steps onto the wooden platform as the other adventurers pack up their things, one symbolically putting 5 gold coins into Durnan's hand just as he starts taking the steps. A large cut of the patrons loudly hit their tables either with hands or tankards once, which gets everyone's attention. The second hit has almost everyone doing it - and all eyes are on Durnan as the advneturers start to climb onto the Rope. "Alright, we have a crew for the Undermountain. So Listen Up, Kids. My name is Durnan, and I'm the guy whose been in and out of the Undermountain more often then some of you have had hot meals. There's Rules, Written in Blood by Halaster Blackcloak. You want to live, you learn them." he calls out. The hitting against the tables is faster and has it's own rhythm but nobody's talking. "Rule 1 - Groups of no more then 5. If you see someone else down there, you keep your distance and pretend you didn't. They're probably just bait for a trap anyway. Rule 2 - Once you're down there, you can leave at any time as long as you can make it too an actual Exit. Teleportation Spells work down there, but the Blackcloak picks where you land. Not you. If he's feeling nice, he'll just put you right back where you started. If he isn't, he'll drop you in a spike trap. Don't ask me how it works, I have no idea. Rule 3 - Same for Banishments and Plane Shifting. I don't know how any of those work either. Once you're in, you leave by an actual Exit or you don't at all. Rule 4 - Extradimensional Spaces seem to work fine, as long as you don't try to use them to Leave. Rule 5 - If you try to use magic to change the shape of anything in the Undermountain, he'll just put it back. If he’s feeling nice, he does it immediately. If he’s not feeling nice, he waits until you’d be stuck in the wall when he puts it back. It doesn’t seem to apply to Doors and Furniture though. That's it. Good Luck. Try not to Die." And with that little Safety lecture the latest crew starts to decend down the rope- maybe one day you'll get your shot but for now - the hitting against tables continues until they're no longer in sight.

OOC So I had an experimental idea to start us off. I'm kind of wondering what parties would form "naturally". So let's see what happens. Consider this a Social Challenge. Three Rules - - Form your party completely In-Character. See who you gel with and who you don't. Talk, Shmooze, etc. - The end result must have exactly 5 characters in it. - I reserve the right to overrule the results, but I am curious what comes out of this and will keep this in mind. You can post in this before you finish your sheet but please don't take too long on that.

[Mitsubachi]

Sarathai Sarathai observed the ritual descent of the party into the Yawning Portal – the actual portal, not the Inn. It was her impression that not many of the table-thumping patrons expected them to come back, least of all the stern landlord, Durnan. It was quite a morbid, forbidding ceremony. But Sarathai was not to be dissuaded. The waifish elf listened carefully to the rules, processed the information, and thought hard about the obstacles that may impede her quest. She also made careful observations of the other potential adventurers around her. Sarathai knew her flaws. She made bad decisions when she was angry or in love, she acted upon instinct and emotion rather than logic. Most of all, she was no warrior. Her body was fragile. But she was brave, and what she lacked in martial prowess could be compensated for with other skills. Sarathai cast her eyes again over the assembled “adventurers”, and realised she would have to be decisive, if she were to achieve anything in the Undermountain. She needed to recruit strength, prowess, bravery, honour… and magic. So she acted upon instinct. Sarathai marched toward a brave and handsome human knight with long brown hair. A facial scar accompanied a goatee and short beard for a battle-hardened quirk to the distinguished veneer. His polished armour and golden cloak completed the picture. This man was a paladin! Just behind this knight, a broad and heavy limbed ranger lingered by the bar. This human projected a vulture-like keenness, which Sarathai recognised as of one adept at tracking and surviving in the wilderness. He was observing her just as intently as she him. As the Wood Elf approached, the bald man shifted, and Sarathai detected a surprising lightness in the movements of the coarse scout. He was a hunter to be trusted. She reached a spot close enough to the pair, and gathered her wits. This would be decisive, one way or the other. She faced Reynauld Stagminter first. “My name is Sarathai Treesinger, and I mean to enter the Undermountain. If you will honour me with your sword…” she turned to Brok Anyard, next. “… and your bow, then I can promise you the protection of my magic, my healing.” She raised her hands and bowed her head, to show both her commitment and her humility. Then, unexpectedly, Sarathai whirled to a seat at a table nearby, and fell to her knees, to come face to face with a gnome that had been curling and trying to will himself invisible. “And you, Sir, are the bravest being in this entire tavern!” she whispered to Segwann Kenir. “I have watched you and observed your aura and… and you have no idea of the wonderful power that you and your music possess! Please, I beg of you; would you honour me with your company? Your character truly makes my heart sing...” Sarathai straightened, smoothing her camisole dress of gossamer silk, and turned back to the knight and the ranger. She gestured to the gnome. “I sense that this one will save us all at some point.” Then she turned her attention to another in the tavern that had caught her attention. He was rakishly handsome – the features hinted of Elvish descent, but he was clearly also human – and dressed far too stylishly for such an establishment. He was, in fact, annoyingly handsome. Sarathai had taken an instant dislike, though this feeling was accompanied by a sense of unease at why this dislike had come so instinctively. It does not matter, focus on the quest. It must be because he is talking to that half-orc, she tried to reassure herself. He is clearly skilled. For she had surreptitiously observed the deft magical trickery and witnessed a level of spell skill that, if used properly, could also potentially save all of them. She took a deep breath, fighting against her dread, and gestured for Reynauld and Brok to look toward the half-elf wizard, Ganth. “And he looks like he might be useful, too,” she said through gritted teeth…

OOC Just getting things started... rolling up of character sheet to come.

[WhiteStag]

Laucian Silvermane What is this absolute pig sh*t, that this old, washed up day-trader of an adventurer, your employer, Durnan, have any authority, nor the horse balls of gall, to be telling any one of us that ‘we are simply not qualified,’ nor skilled enough to be venturing down into that silly, superstition of an …Undermountain. He places his whiskey glass down hard on the counter with a disdainful thud, and points his half serious, half tipsy, Ire, at the smirking barmaid, Bonnie, standing just on the other side of the counter. "You don’t be know’in what you be getting into down there in the tunnel. It ain’t no joke." --You’ve got to be kidding me! With this, Laucian Silvermane kicks his barstool out from under him, whirls around trailing his long black trench coat in a stylish swirl, as he bends his knee to put his foot onto the bar counter-top. Pulling himself up confidently, maybe a bit shaky as the cheap whiskey works its way through his body, he finally stands tall atop the counter, gazing down royally at all the other occupants that inhabit the gregarious tavern. EVERYONE!-- I CALL FOR YOUR ATTENTION. His piercing howl of words is startling. The slamming of flagons instantly cease. Patrons, drunk and dumbfounded, spin around to glean a glimpse at what kind of possible individual would be so bold, so boisterous, so audacious, to be standing atop the counter, looking down on everyone with such a need of absolute, and focused attention, all on himself. Hale friends and countrymen! Adventurers, peasants, buffoons, and simple vagabond-vagrants of this rowdy and obnoxious Inn tavern we all find ourselves in. The proprietor, Durnan, says we are not good enough nor qualified to venture into the undermountain! HA! How absolutely RIDICULOUS!! Patrons may be roused to overt shouting with this last comment. Now with a broad smile dragging long across his face from ear to ear, and a deep rosy complexion, undeniable and indicative of obvious intoxication, he continues, HOW IN THE VAST NINE HELLS DOES ANY SINGLE MAN HAVE THE GALL TO ANNOUNCE THAT WE, POSSIBLY THE MOST HARDIEST OF COMBATANTS, HAVE NO RIGHT TO TRY OUR HANDS AT THAT CRAZY AND BEFUDDLED MOUNTAIN!?!?! As the commotion erupts again and eventually subsides with this riotous remark, he tosses his trench coat open and to the side with a stylish gusto as to indicate he may be drawing something from his belt. My name is Rupiter'us Cassimoros! And I offer my deft blades and swift riposte to any group of hardy adventurers that wish to team with a seasoned and silent deathknell of a bladesman, to help navigate, assassinate, and assimilate any and all of that mountain of gold under that famed undermountain… (hick’up) THAT WE CAN POSSIBLY CARRY BACK WITH US — IN SHEER AND MOMENTOUS VICTORY FOR ALL OF THE VAST FAERUN TO BEHOLD!!! WHAT SAY YOU?!?! WHO IS WITH ME I SAY !?!? With this, the hand on his side flickers loose, curls around his back and palms a silvery-glistening dagger, holding it by its deathly sharp tip. The knife is arched back and suddenly snapped forward, in a flash of a split second, like lightning, and soars through the air, cutting through the thick and cloudy pipe smoke that lingers, swiftly severing a great chandelier instantly from its ties to the ceiling, as the great ornament drops down and crashes hard onto a bar table, shattering said bar table completely with a roar of wooden and splinterous explosion!! (hopefully not hurting anyone). Laucian recollects himself afterwards, and stands tall resounding in the wake, while the witnessing patrons turn back to him and simply gawk, stunned and shocked beyond measure, at the sheer and utter, magnificent prowess he just displayed with complete and undeniable, glistening awe... The commanding elf can only expect, and awaits a roaring applause of brilliance from all corners of the room, and of numerous initiations forthcoming by hardy volunteers, eager and excited to join him, indeed...

OOC - Character sheet and stat box under development. Thank you. - This should be fun, friends. Let's get into it!

[Oakie]

After several visits to The Yawning Portal, Daveed Llorellian Maernos finally had the penultimate puzzle piece: Durnan's requirements for entry to Undermountain. The final piece would be forming or joining a suitable group of five. To Daveed, few in the inn seemed to have the required mettle for the undertaking. Most were the curious and poseurs. And of those who seemed capable, he was comfortable with even fewer. Though he was not introspective enough at that moment to see the commonalities, he was attracted to two qualities: elvish blood and/or apparent nobility. Daveed, it seems, is a bit of a snob. Two persons attracted him most: a slight wood-elf, who he suspects is talented in nature magic, and Reynauld Stagminterhuman warrior with a noble cast and the scars of many fights. He had just decided to approach the wood-elf woman first when she engaged his warrior, introducing herself as Sarathai Treesinger. Before he could worm his way into their conversation, she pulled in a human bowman, a gnome, and a elvish mage, attempting to make her five. Now there was no easy way for him to intrude without seeming desperate. Yet he would not give up his prize. How can I attract her attention? The warrior's? he thought and started weighing his options. All of a sudden, a drunken elf, Rupiter'us Cassimoros, addressed the room in the most uproarious and embarrassing manner! Still, such rhetoric sometimes rouses heroes, Daveed thinks as he Insight 5! LOLassesses the room's reaction before reacting himself…

OOC/Info Possible Party Role Face, esp. good with elites. In combat, magic Controller with emphasis on illusion and enchantment. Appearance Young man of average height, slim, red hair, fair skin, blue eyes. Probably mixed elvish and human heritage (half-elf). Handsome, almost pretty. Magnetic presence. Definitely a gentleman, yes, but also open and of good humor. He seems like the sort of person you could share a joke or gossip with, or enjoy the evening playing parlor games – so long as you remember to mind your manners. He is dressed in the Waterdeep equivalent of a Victorian/Edwardian gentleman's hunting or safari attire, perhaps something like this. In other words, "traveling clothes" that are practical yet stylish, tailored, and classy. Affixed to his belt are a dagger and a wand, both in tooled leather sheaths.   AC: 12 HP: 8 Conditions:   Initiative: Move: Action: Bonus Action: Reaction: Concentration: Free Action: Insight into room's mood, Dice Roll: 1d20+2 (3)+2 Total = 5 (5) Special:

[ArcZero]

Make A List Midjourney. Character Sheet Above. Bronwyn steps back into the Yawning Portal feeling mostly rested. She is down to only a half-dozen bandages across her body and that was the mark she'd set for herself that meant she could go asking at the tavern again. The training of the last few weeks had been very productive and she felt stronger and more focused. She thought, "Meloon has to think I'm ready by now!" She steps into the tavern and it is packed! Meloon is already nestled amongst a few tables and chatting heartily. The dwarf glares at the clearly seasoned adventuring party making plans and wishes she could be one of them! If Bronwyn is going to get Meloon's attention, she's going to need a party. They'll just look at her like she's stupid if she tries to approach alone again. So Bronwyn goes to the area where "the Called" are being penned in. If it's good enough for them, it's good enough for her, if a little cramped. Then she considers how she can get the attention of all these people. Not too loudly, not too quietly, just her style of saying what she means and meaning what she says. She takes out a creased piece of parchment and writes down in blocky chicken scratch, List of things Goal: Get a group to impress Meloon. Step 1: Make a list Step 2: Get someone smart! Then WE look smart. Step 3: Get a healer. Step 4: Get someone strong I'm strong, don't need that. Step 4: Someone fast? She underlines step 2. That seems like a really smart idea to her. That's the most writing she's done in the last two weeks, time to move on. Bronwyn settles in to figure out who is who. She spies an odd Rock Gnome sitting at a table, not too far or too close to anyone else. Something about him puts her off, so she looks to the bar, trying to find Durnan. Looking that way, she spies a halfling near her who seems to be a quiet sort. Bronwyn thinks, "Wait, isn't that...?" Just as she is about to remember their name, Durnan takes to the platform and people begin clapping and stomping. Durnan makes his legendary entrance and Bronwyn doesn't feel the least bit discouraged. Processing it a bit, she tries to decide if the thumping is for Durnan or the party descending. It looks like it's for them! She thinks, "Yeah that's what I wanna be! I want to make things better. Save those kids. Kick that Neverember guy in the teeth!" When things finally settle down, Bronwyn leans over and speaks to the Restahalfling with very plain and nondescript clothing, "I could swear I remember you from somewhere... Wait." She scratches her nose, then raises it in a distinct but not flashy showing of victory, "That's right, I'd helped you out with firewood a few times, right? You and some other kids in one of the shelters?" Bronwyn chuckles and scoots her chair a little closer and extends a hand, gauging the halfling's interest, "If you don't remember me, I'm Bronwyn. I am -well- was a woodcutter. Now I'm training to be a monk! What about you?" The dwarf's written list sits eagerly in her hand, ready to be shown to the halfling.

Get Someone Smart Out of familiar faces and unable to locate any fellow dwarves, Bronwyn resolves to move onto the all-important Step 2 of her plan. She looks around for any wizardy-types. Fancy clothes, a mysterious cloak, probably an elf? Something like that. In doing so, she looks past the Rock Gnome several more times, but he's already getting caught up with the druidess and others, so the timid looking one may not be her concern. A druidess is already moving amongst their number and approaching others, so it's time Bronwyn gets a move-on too. Unfortunately, a very loud and very drunk High Elf puts the kibosh on that plan. He is so loud in fact, that many in the tavern stop to listen. Bronwyn inwardly groans and is glad she isn't the one soaking up this much attention. She would be mortified. The only reason she'd done what she did at the Carpenter's Guild was to help the city. And she hadn't said a single, solitary word doing it. That's how a hero takes a stand. Her thoughts are then interrupted as a weighty chandelier is brought down by the bombastic elf. In protest, Bronwyn adds a line to her list: Step 0: Definitely don't pick that guy. Finally she is able to gather her thought and pick out a few potential options. A Ganthmostly Elven-looking man with a sharp gaze and with fine clothing that shows a learned sort. He's motivated. A Daveedhalf-elf with short-cropped red hair of noble airs, peering around as much as she is. He's definitely smart. A Nixiiravery mysterious Drow with an eyepatch and a cloak? Check? Three lucky rabbit's feet for magic? Triple check. She's definitely magical, tough and bad*ss! And Elwina very charming looking man with fiery red hair whos fine and poufy clothing makes it clear he has to be a wizard. Not an elf, but he looks smart and very confident! Okay that's enough. There are certainly more, but if she keeps going, she'll be here all night! Bronwyn goes to the bar and asks for a dungeon or wilderness map to borrow. She doesn't care of where, but the more obscure the better. If it takes a gold coin to get it, so be it. Then she is determined to go to each of these four enigmatic characters and ask for help reading the map. Surely she can verify if at least one of them is the genius she's looking for. At each of their tables, she proudly plants her sturdy dwarven feet wide and gives her best monk-like bow with a fist pressed into her other palm, saying, "Greetings, I'm Bronwyn Haefral, monk aspirant. I'm looking for someone like you to join me in the Undermountain." Her short, muscular build speaks for itself: she is a woman of courage and conviction. The fact that her legs look like they can kick down a tree doesn't hurt either. Then she holds out the map of the small dungeon or wilderness area and asks, "How would you make a plan to get through here?"

OOC Trying to form a party, but not forcing it per se, just seeing who is receptive to Bronwyn's little plan. Those of you who she deemed "wizard types", respond if you like, I'm easygoing.

Statblock Bronwyn Haefral HP: 13/13 AC:15

[Chylopan]

Ganth And so sayeth the adventurer turned flagon-peddlar, Durnan, the commandments of the Yawning Portal. Ganth thought the brutish pageantry was a touch droll given the dire circumstances that eager party was sure to face, but he chalked it up to a rousing, motivational speech intent to inspire camaraderie and hope — or maybe the exact opposite; Durnan was a dour sort. These were important factors when considering ones' own adventuring party, after all. Still, thereabouts were the ragtag makings of one (or two, or three...) others. Who amongst them would be bold enough to garner support, favor, and/or pledges of loyalty in return for naught more than the hope — nay. the desperate raking and clawing — of a chance at entering the Portal? Fate chose an unlikely soul to lead the charge, or so it had seemed to the young wizard. Sarathai Treesinger — yep, that was definitely an Elven name, if ever Ganth had heard of one. And he had, many. Oh so many. Countless many. Their colorful names were pinned as a credit at the bottom of a variety of different spell scrolls that had crossed his desk. His mother was one, in fact, or so it had to be given the amalgamated nature of his very existence. Nevertheless, this woman lived up to at least half of her namesake and sang the praises of those with whom she sought to band together in the form of some motley fellowship. Ganth knew there would be more who would follow in her wake, as this particular den of vices seemed to thrive and clamor over sudden, spirited exultations. Ah, but then another was quick to rise to the occasion! A spirited — as in, full of spirits — fellow whose inebriated call to arms was, for lack of a better phrase, spilling forth with great gusto. How... amusing. Ganth subtly prestidigitized a raucous which may make things even more amusing should the general consensus turn out to be contrary!round of applause for the drunkard and his tirade. More power to you... Rupiter'us Cassimoros! Hells, what a ridiculous name... But what of Sarathai Treesinger, who cut her eyes at him much like a cat might the canary, who called upon the attention of others that followed suit? Oh, that simply would not do. If he were to be drafted into some ragtag cohort then it must be made known that his employ was one of terms and conditions — reasonable ones, he thought. More importantly, it meant an introduction was in order! A slightly weird, wholly unnecessary, but altogether appropriately wizard-like introduction. Ganth moves towards the Druidess and any who might claim to also be close by... only, curiously, he is not moving at all — well, really, it's simply that he isn't animated; as in, the man is closing the distance but not actually... moving (does this make sense?); instead, it would appear as though the wizard was sliding forward, entirely unphased by the world around him, or maybe it was that the world was drawing closer to him? No, couldn't be! But that proud, half-elven visage did eventually wind up front and center before Sarathai Treesinger, with stare not once averted throughout the entire trip. TL;DR - Ganth is using the spell Silent Image to make it appear as though he is inanimately sliding towards his intended target, like a creepy and powerful wizard, when he's really just walking normally behind an illusion and then taking its place.There stands the wizard's image — nay, it is Ganth himself! — now animated by the soft crane of his dark crown. "It is impolite to stare," he mused, matter-of-factly. "Even more so to gossip. Regardless, I will make this brief: I will join your cadre on but one condition." A moment passed that he might cut eyes to each in turn, then wet his lips before continuing. "I am allowed discretionary study of any and all magical (or otherwise supernatural) artifacts that might come into the party's possession, should it pique my interest." Instantaneously, forming out of a cloud of opalescent arcane smoke, does an ethereal hand manifest. This is very clearly an embellished representation of Ganth's own appendage, though it is ungloved, pointed, and has a crystal lodged in its (not so) fleshy center. Acting as a surrogate for the necessity of physical, the wizard's magical hand is left open and waiting, eager for some sort of reciprocal shake, that this pact made be made true. "A trivial thing, really."

Statblock   Actions Initiative: Move: Action: Bonus Action: Reaction: Active Effect: Status: Contingencies: Notes: Level Wizard 1 | Half Elf | Ganth HP: 8/8 | AC: 12 | Speed: 30 Feet | Passive Investigation: 15 | Initiative: +3 Feats: You have advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and you cannot be put to sleep by magic. Fey Ancestry Background Feature When you attempt to learn or recall a piece of lore, if you do not know that information, you often know where and from whom you can obtain it. Usually, this information comes from a library, scriptorium, university, or sage or other learned person or creature.Researcher Abilities: Once per day when you finish a short rest, you can choose expended spell slots to recover — up to a combined level of 1, and none of the slots can be 6th level or higherArcane Recovery Racial Traits: High Elven Descent Proficient Skills: Acrobatics +2 | Arcana +5 | History +5 | Investigation +5 | Religion +3 | Nature +3 | Persuasion +2 | Sleight of Hand +3 | Proficient Tools: N/A Languages: Celestial, Common, Draconic, Dwarvish, Elvish Weapons: Quarterstaff (to hit: +2, damage: 1d6/8, Versatile) Abilities Str Dex Con Int Wis Cha Score: 10 15 14 16 8 14 Modifier: +0 +2 +2 +3 -1 +2 Saves: +0 +2 +2 +5 +1 +2   Spellcasting Ability: +3 Spells Prepared: 4 Spell Attack Modifier: +5 Spell Save DC: 13 Spell Slots: 2/2 Spells Prepared: Chromatic Orb Mage Armor Silent Image Silvery Barbs

[Crocartes]

Reynauld Stagminter 1: Thunder, Stolen: Anger, Erumpent He'd had a grand vision for this day. He really had. Reynauld Stagminter was going to go into the Yawning Portal, call the attention of the crowd, and brazenly ask for the service of some of the finest rising heroes in the city to join him as the inaugural crew of the Gildedbuck Company. It was a great plan, and foolproof. He'd tried individual recruitment, but that had always failed. Yagra challenged and defeated him in arm wrestling, and he ended up working for her. The Broadhorn twins had agreed to serve, but only in jest. Threestrings just seemed generally uninterested. What was missing? Grandiosity and showmanship. That had been ol' Wardragon's suggestion, though Reynauld hadn't been sure if the chuckle accompanying the advice had been well intentioned or not. Nevertheless, the young man had this all planned out. Walk in. Grand speech. Leave with companions. One. Two. Three. Simple. So how had the night gone like this? --- Reynauld waited patiently while the experienced dungeon-delvers at the center of the bottom floor of the Yawning Portal planned out their incursion into the Blackcloak's lair. He hoped they'd return with stories and riches to share, though odds were a handful would make it back maimed at best. There were definitely those in this room who felt they deserved to be in that lucky group more than those going, but the young Stagminter wasn't so foolish. Sure, he banged on the tables with the rest of the patrons, but the realization that they were cheering people marching to their dooms soured his mood. He was planning out exactly what to say once the room had calmed when the elven woman surprised him. She wasn't quite like the elves his family usually conducted business with, though her beauty was no less eminent. She seemed small, but certainly not in spirit. "My name is Sarathai Treesinger, and I mean to enter the Undermountain. If you will honour me with your sword... and your bow, then I can promise you the protection of my magic, my healing." He had been expecting those words about as much as he had expected the strong scent of flowers that accompanied the woman --- that is to say, not at all. His thoughts turned once again to all those who had failed to return from the Undermountain, and the prospect of joining them hurt more than he'd like to admit. Still, here was someone practically begging to work with him, and she professed to having healing magics to boot. How many lives could she save and improve on contracts? Not just us mercenaries either, but the people we defend as well! The smile he offered in return to her sincerity was genuine. The elf moved fast, and Reynauld was shocked to see her address multiple others before he could even return her bow or offer words. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Treesinger." The young man flared his cape to the side with one arm and offered a bow much like the ones he'd seen his father offer to extremely wealthy and prolific elven guild leaders in his youth. "I would certainly be willing to aid you in a trip to the Undermountain one day, but perhaps we should start a bit smaller?" With those words he nodded to include the other man whom Sarathai had addressed alongside him. He had the air of an experienced woodsman about him, and those types usually meant business.The gnome seemed less impressive, but Sarathai had kind words. There seemed to be some tension regarding the clearly somewhat elven fellow over to the side who had managed to carve out a zone where he had more elbow room than anyone else in the room. Tension isn't good. What's going on there? "As fate would have it I am looking to recruit likeminded indi---" "Everyone! I call for your attention!" The interruption was caused by a dark but classy looking gentleman whose pose and demeanor were currently anything but gentlemanly. The man spoke, with that type of slightly-slurred eloquence that the young Stagminter had seen at so many business dinners with Waterdeep's elite. This man gave voice to the thoughts that Reynauld was afraid so many others were harboring. So sure of himself. So determined to make a scene. So confident in his abilities, if not those of the other patrons. The fresh mercenary leaned back against a wooden pillar and waited for the speech to end. Wait... wasn't I going to give a grand speech? "Damnit!" The words involuntarily burst forth around the time this Rupeter'us Cassimoros asked who was with him. Reynauld was ready to write this guy off as just another lunatic with a deathwish. Just another no one who thought they could run with the someones. A hollow man spitting hollow words to cope with the realities of a hollow and uncaring word. He'd seen them before, of course. He'd traded blows with many a broken man, and knew what their eyes looked like. They always the same eyes. So why weren't Rupeter'us' eyes like that? The warrior didn't quite sense something was wrong until it was too late to act. The drunken man threw a knife blade, expertly the mercenary had to admit, and caused a quite expensive chandelier to come crashing down on a table. That was it. That was the moment that the night went to hell, and his plans really fell through. He forgot about Sarathai, the gnome, that isolated figure and the woodsman. All Reynauld could see was that some drunken jerk had just showed a disregard for people's safety and property. He acted immediately. With clenched fists, Reynauld walked across the shocked room towards the standing figure of the trenchcoat-clad vandal. The smile he had offered Sarathai was gone, replaced with that hard scowl that Reynauld usually reserved for bullies whom he intended to thrash. When he spoke, his voice was loud and authoritative. "I SAY," he emphasized those first words in a mocking pantomime of Rupeter'us' own voice, "That you either need to recompense good Durnan here for his shattered assets, or consider what a period of imprisonment can do to improve the demeanor of the intoxicated." The warrior held himself ready to act at a moments notice. He hadn't planned on getting involved with any ruckus or accounting tonight, but situations like these had a habit of resolving themselves one way or another. It just so happened that Reynauld tended to be involved with both those options. He was much better at the one that didn't involve counting.

OOC & Relevant Information   Reynauld Stagminter AC: 16 (18 if holding shield) HP: 13/13 Possible party participation: Safe-decision making leader. Mostly personable person. MeatshieldSteelshield. "Strong man slice hard," as a former opponent remarked. Dispenser of dragon-adjacent justice. Don't ask him to calculate things. Judgement is what's dealt to criminals, not a virtue.

[Tyeal]

Segwann Kenir Segwann "Why did I do that..." Segwann sat at the table close to the fire, hoping to hide away in the shadows cast by the fire place, as well as not be seen by the more rowdy patrons of the Yawning Portal. Rather than chatting up the man running the Tavern for useful info or what kind of work could be had in Waterdeep outside of plundering some mad wizard's crafted death maze, he approached the tavern's bard, Threestrings. And made him out to be a fool. Even now he could feel many pairs of eyes studying him, regarding him with... Contempt? Probably contempt. There was shouting from someone. Durnan? Or was it Durran? He listed some set of rules about going into the depths. The Gnome sank that little bit further into himself. What party would want him along? He didn't have any experience underground, he couldn't fight, he was only barely beginning to understand the spell magic he had been given, for some reason! At best, he'd end up the latest bit of bait for some hideous monster many times his size just so the others of whatever group drags him along can live to see tomorrow. And get someone capable. He sighs deeply, staring into his tankard of water. Its glassy- He nearly jumped out of his clothes when... Who was she? A dryad? A nymph, maybe? She was stunning! An Elven woman with red-brown hair growing wildly about her shoulders, a lithe frame crouched in front of him to meet him eye to eye. Two pools of shimmering gold locked with his gaze as she addressed him in a voice like wind traveling through leaves. “And you, Sir, are the bravest being in this entire tavern!” she whispered. “I have watched you and observed your aura and… and you have no idea of the wonderful power that you and your music possess! Please, I beg of you; would you honour me with your company? Your character truly makes my heart sing...” She straightened, smoothing her camisole dress of gossamer silk, and turned back to the knight and the ranger. She gestured to the gnome. “I sense that this one will save us all at some point.” "...N-No. No! Nononononono!" Segwann leapt up from his seat and grabbed her arm in both hands, standing on the table as he had a panicked grasp on the strange Druidic woman that addressed him so suddenly. His falsetto voice shaking as much as his arms. "D-Don't say such things, I beg you! I... I c-couldn't begin to help a-anyone! I... I'm still trying t'help.... myself..." His hands suddenly released her arm as if she had become a boiling kettle. His mouth opened to try and explain himself when another figure approached the untamed-looking Elven woman. A ELven man this time. Or.. Was he a Elven noble? The deep accented clothes he wore, looking of crimson silk, seemed to convey that. And... Was he floating? His legs didn't move as he approached. And once he settled down, Segwann saw this soft ripple of something take place, and he addressed her in a tone as rich as his attire. Yes. This was someone who should be speaking with his Elven dryad. Not him. His gaze fell to his boots before realizing he was standing on the table. He quietly sat back down in his seat, taking up his tankard again. Avoiding the sharp, stern eyes of the Elven magister.

OOC Let's see if the deeply shy Gnome can still stand out among the other big personalities!

Segwann's Actions Move: Action: Bonus: Reaction: Current Effect:

Stat Block   Segwann Kenir Neutral Good | Male | Rock Gnome | Bard 1 Armor Class 12 Hit Points 12/12 Speed 25 ft Saving throws STR +0, DEX +3, CON +4, INT +1, WIS +0, CHA +5 | Initiative +1 Skills Athletics +2, History +3, Investigation +3, Perception +2, Persuasion +5 Senses Darkvision | Passive Perception 12 | Languages Common, Gnomish Spellcasting (DC 13, +5) Cantrips Prestidigitation, Vicious Mockery 1st level (2/2) Comprehend Languages (Rit), Identify (Rit), Dissonant Whispers, Healing Word WEAPON Dagger +4 | 1d4+1

[PalladiaMors]

So this was the lower floor of the tavern of the Yawning Portal. It wasn't Jaycen's first visit to the tavern, though in his past couple of visits he remained in the upstairs section. Today though there was a spectacle and, dare he say, celebration, things he wasn't about to miss. Of course exactly why people were celebrating was quite the mystery to him, as it seemed the celebration was for people cheerfully climbing down a hole to their deaths. Was this some sort of overly cheerful ritual sacrifice held in the prime material? He'd heard stories in the Feywild, but nothing quite like this. Seemed rather silly to him. But it drew a crowd, and that's what mattered. A crowd meant people, people meant mingling, and mingling meant meeting those people. So a win all around where he was concerned. Besides, he had realized that he would need something more than pick-up performances if he were to earn enough coin and respect to return to Neverwinter with his head held high, and this offer to meet with someone named Volo would be a good start. Though he wasn't well-equipped to handle it alone, of this he was quite aware. Perhaps he might be able to find other interested parties here, parties who didn't intend to cheerfully climb down a hole to their deaths. He paused at the top of the stairs to gather these thoughts, but only for a moment before hopping up onto the rail of the stairs and sliding his way down, hopping off with a nimble hop. To say he cut a unique figure would be an understatement, at least here on the prime. He was about human height, but clearly not human, nor among any of the more common humanoid species found in this room. An orange-brown fur covered most of his body, white in some regions, and his face was more that of a rabbit than a human. Bright emerald eyes pierced the white fur around his eyes and a pair of long ears escaped from the wide-brimmed hat he was wearing. More of the fur peeked out from the cotton shirt he was wearing, a leather jacket worn over top of that. He carried a pack over one shoulder, a well-played fiddle peeking out. A belt with several things hanging from it helped hold up the soft leather trousers with a hole in the back for his fluffy tail, and a pair of leather, open-toed boots completed the rustic look. His steps were light and agile, every movement planned ahead. En route to the bar he passes by an Sarathaielven woman with an earthy scent, offering a friendly smile and nod. Once he has passed by her he turns around and takes a few steps backwards as he takes an appreciative look, though even those movements seemed planned as he turns back around before walking backwards into anyone or anything. She might come in handy, he'd have to remember her. After claiming a tankard of ale he turns and heads towards the center of activity, eyes flitting back and forth as he scours the crowd. He has to make use of his agility when he starts to maneuver through a crowded part of the tavern where tables are shoved too close together and people too preoccupied with themselves to keep the path clear. He nearly runs into Bonnie, the waitress, but both stop before any such collision. Jaycen steps to his left, but so does she. He moves to his right and predictably, so does she. There's a laugh between the two before he simply steps forward and takes hold of the wrist holding up the tray loaded with drinks, his hand carrying his own tankard finding her free hand. "If we're gonna do this dance, may as well do it proper, aye?" he smirks before leading the barmaid on a quick sway and sashay that leaves them headed in their respective proper directions following a short twirl. Though one of the drinks on her tray has found its way into his hand by the time the short dance has ended. He keeps on going ahead, though the playful movements linger a bit longer before he spots who he was looking for. It looked like the elven woman was gathering a small crowd around herself, quite possibly for the same reason as himself. "Too much competition," he notes to himself before turning to survey the rest of the crowd. Ah, there we go - a strong, sturdy, warrior type. And one that was definitely worth looking at. Smile and confidence restored he resumed his walk towards her, only to be interrupted by loud yelling from the bar he just left. An Laucianelven man has hopped up on the bar, one that Jaycen has to take a closer look at. He looked a bit familiar somehow, had he seen him in Jaycen has spent quite a bit of time in Neverwinter, and might recognize Laucian from thereNeverwinter? Or was he on the Alternatively they could have both escaped to Waterdeep on the same boat. Or of course Jaycen just thinks all elves look alike and there's no connection at all! Just things to think about.boat down here? Either way he was being loud and obnoxious and nobody likes a drunk that kills the mood of the party. "Aye now, if ye gonna get up on stage, do us a song an' dance! Or start takin' some clothes off for the ladies!" he shouts back as the stodgy Reynauldwarrior offers his own (less-amusing in Jayven's eyes) objection to the drunken elf's antics. "Though I can suggest a much more preferable option for that part," he says with a playful wink as he leans down between the strong-looking Bronwyndwarf and her Restahalfling friend, sliding a tankard of ale in front of each of them. "Actually... all three if I'm ta be honest," the harengon offers with a tip of his hat. The words may sound boastful but they're delivered with the confidence of one stating them as simple facts. "Apologies if I'm interruptin', but I could nae spy such a vision without introducin' myself. Jaycen, or just Jayce or Jay if ya prefer, I'm easy," he says to Bronwyn with a bow. "And to ye too, lass," he continues with a smile Resta's way. The rabbitfolk glances down at Brownwyn's list and raises an eyebrow, it would seem she is indeed looking for the same sort of thing as him. He reaches out a finger and points to the lines reading Step 3 and Step 4 before pointing to himself with a smile. "And Step 5 - Someone who can talk ye through the bollocks. Not that I'm stupid," he continues as he slides his finger up to Step 2. "But I don' wanna spread myself too thin. Three at a time's my limit," he concludes with a grin. OOC Interrupting Bronwyn's post a bit, but so long as she doesn't throw a drink in his face and punch him he can go along to chat with the smart people.

[Togot]

Elwin sits back leisurely as he enjoys sipping his wine while watching the ceremony taking place. He wonders how many of the delvers will return alive. He’s tried talking with the veterans in the tavern, but most have been too tight lipped even for his silver tongue to loosen. This did not discourage him even in the slightest. Elwin had a will of tempered steel; his resolve was unwavering. It had to be in order for him to survive what he’d been through. Most disowned nobles wound up dead in gutters, but not him. He had lost everything, but he would get it all back, with interest. He would show them what he was made of.

Of course, he was not so egotistical to think that he could do it all alone. There was no shame in admitting that one needed help. Victoria had helped him by teaching him. Now he needed help once again. He looked over the other potential delvers in his segregated section of the tavern. One of the first lessons his teacher had taught him was that a wizard needed a meathead to stand between themselves and danger.

There was certainly no shortage of meat shields on display. But Elwin was particular about the people he associated with and trusted. The problem with big strong men was that they tended to enjoy bullying small smart men such as himself. Elwin had no desire to be smacked around by a brute. Ideally, he’d like to find a strong woman. They tended to be eager to prove themselves while also being appreciative of those who gave them a chance and believed in them.

He looked to the lovely elf. She appeared to be a druidess by her dress. Not really what he was looking for, and she already seemed to be engaged with several men. Then there was the one-eyed drow. She was a better prospect, but Elwin had heard that drow women tended to be extremely sexist towards men, and this one looked like she’d been through some bad business. Perhaps he would approach her later to test the waters. He didn’t like to judge people he hadn’t met.

Then he spots a very muscular dwarf wrapped in bandages, and he smiles. She looked perfect. That kind of physique took effort and discipline. She looked like she had something to prove. He was wondering how best to approach her when she made eye contact with him and walked right over to his table.

she proudly plants her sturdy dwarven feet wide and gives her best monk-like bow with a fist pressed into her other palm, saying, "Greetings, I'm Bronwyn Haefral, monk aspirant. I'm looking for someone like you to join me in the Undermountain." Her short, muscular build speaks for itself: she is a woman courage and conviction. The fact that her legs look like they can kick down a tree doesn't hurt either.

Then she holds out the map of the small dungeon or wilderness area and asks, "How would you make a plan to get through here?"

Elwin flashed her a friendly smile. She was testing him. He looks the map over, stroking his chin. It depicted a forest. Unfortunately, her question was rather vague as she failed to specify a starting point or intended destination, but that wasn’t really a problem. “Well, most people would think to follow along the river to avoid getting lost, but this is a mistake. Firstly, it puts an unsurpassable obstacle on one of your sides, limiting your options for retreat. An enemy could easily push your back to the wall. Following along these cliffs has the same problem as well as the added threat of having rocks thrown down on you from above. If you desire stealth, then sticking within the tree line here would be best, but if you desire haste, then heading through this large meadow would save a lot of time.”

After answering her question, he offers his hand, confident he passed her test. “Elwin Fireblood, apprentice wizard. It’s nice to meet you miss Bronwyn. Can I order you a drink?”

[Grouchy]

Brok Anyard Despite all the commotion around him, the big bald man sitting on a stool along the bar nearest the wall is not making any celebratory noises as the quintet is lowered into the Undermountain. Leaning forward slightly so his arms rest on his thighs, he holds a tankard in his large right hand that almost looks comically small. Coarse featured and heavy browed, he scans the crowd with a pair of dark beady eyes. Combined with his bald head and a large nose, the man has a vulture-like appearance. He is broad and heavy limbed, adorned in leather armor dyed to a dull black, with a longbow over his shoulders and a large axe hanging from his waist next to a brace of a daggers. Brok listens to Durnan's rules, taking special care to commit them to memory. A group of no more than 5, he thinks to himself, taking a small sip of his ale as he takes in more of the crowd. A fair enough agreement. It would make sense to work in a group for safety, and certainly there's a fair number of competent folks here in the Yawning Portal. The only problem is working out who is competent, and who is not. His eye is immediately drawn to a Sarathai the Treesingerwood elf that locks eyes with him briefly and then appears to be walking in his direction. She sticks out in the rough looking crowd - her elven beauty combined with her skimpy silk dress would draw any man's attention towards her, even one as devoted to his wife as Brok is. He still does not know her intentions, however, so he adjusts himself slightly on his stool as she approaches. If she is walking unfazed through the Yawning Portal, she likely is much more than she would initially appear to be. She approaches the Reynauld Stagminterscar faced man with the youthful features sitting near Brok and speaks to him first. "“My name is Sarathai Treesinger, and I mean to enter the Undermountain. If you will honour me with your sword…” and then, turning towards Brok, she continues “… and your bow, then I can promise you the protection of my magic, my healing.” She then bows politely. Brok considers her offer and is about to reply when she suddenly turns her attention to the shy little gnome sitting nearby. Brok had noticed him and briefly wondered why he was in such a place, but did not register him much more than that. Sarathei begins speaking to him but Brok cannot hear what she says, as suddenly Rupiter'us Cassimorosa well dressed elf with perhaps a bit much to drink begins calling attention to himself and launching into a tirade against Durnan for being relegated to the Called much like the others. Brok's eyebrows narrow slightly in disapproval. City folk, he thinks to himself. A lot of talk and showmanship for no reason. All it does is seek to anger Durnan and get the man kicked out of the Yawning Portal. And then he certainly won't be entering the Undermountain anytime soon. Returning the scar faced man's nod, since Sarathei was still speaking to the gnome, Brok decided to introduce himself. And that is when the drunken elf from before brings the chandelier down with a throw of his knife. Shaking his head slightly at the foolishness of the elf's antics, Brok refrains from interrupting the scarred man who is now yelling at the elf and instead registers a few other worthy candidates nearby. The Bronwyn Haefralmuscular dwarven woman with the long hair talking to Restaa halfling nearby. And now, apparently, Jaycen Springstepa man-rabbit. Brok remembers seeing one back in his youth when the merchants were passing through, but he can't remember what they were called. And now, some Ganthhalf-blooded wizard showing off his magic is approaching Sarathei to offer himself up also. Brok decides it's time to make a move himself, lest he gets left behind. Placing the tankard down on the bar behind him, the big man moves surprisingly lightly as he steps down from the barstool and approaches the elf and the half elf. Taller and wider than most men, he approaches the two and, while keeping an eye on Ganth, extends his large hand towards Sarathei. "Name's Brok," he says in a rumbling tone, his voice deep but surprisingly warm. "I think your deal sounds fair to me. Durnan says we have to make a name for ourselves before he lets us go down. I plan to do just that. What about you?" His speech is slow and methodical, as if he weighs every word before he says it.

Actions and Statistics AC: 14 | HP: 12/12 Move: Action: Bonus: Reaction: Current Effects: None.   Brok Anyard Brok Anyard | Variant Human | Ranger 1 | Feats: When you roll a 1 or 2 on a damage die for an attack you make with a melee weapon that you are wielding with two hands, you can reroll the die and must use the new roll, even if the new roll is a 1 or a 2. The weapon must have the two-handed or versatile property for you to gain this benefit.Fighting Initiate: Great Weapon Fighting. AC: Leather Armor +3 DEX14 | HP: 12/12 | Move: 30 feet. Initiative: +3 | Passive Perception: 14 | | Passive Investigation: 12 | Hit Dice: 0/1 (1D10). (STR +4 / DEX +5 / CON +2 / INT 0 / WIS +2 / CHA 0) Melee: +4 | Ranged: +5 Battleaxe | +4 strike, 1D8+2 slashing damage (1D10+2 if wielded with two hands). Great Weapon Fighting. Longbow | +5 strike, 1D8+2 piercing damage, range 150/600, 20/20 arrows. Dagger x2 | +5 strike, 1D4+3 piercing damage, range 20/60.   Acrobatics +3. Athletics +4. Insight +2. Intimidation +2. Investigation +2. Perception +5. Stealth +5. Survival +6. Spell-Casting Abilities: None yet. Racial and Background Abilities: Knows a few low level folks from his time inside.Background Feature: Criminal Contact. | Common. Dwarven. Elven. Orc.Languages | Bone Dice. Thieve's Tools.Tools Class Abilities: Proficient with light armor, medium armor, shields.Armor Proficiency | Gains expertise in Survival. Gains two languages.Deft Explorer | Gains advantage on Survival checks to track favored enemies. Gains advantage on INT checks to recall info about favored enemies.Favored Enemy: Beasts. | Proficient with simple and martial weapons.Weapon Proficiency

[Oakie]

Daveed let out a soft, nearly silent whistle of shock when Reynauld publicly dressed down Laucien/Rupiter'us. Though his father, Bernard Phillipe Maernos, was a Waterdhavian noble and had explicitly and implicitly taught young Daveed something of his ancestral culture, the reality was that Daveed had been raised among the Eladrin and fae of the Seelie Court of the Feywild – literally another world. He had only been in Waterdeep for less than a tenday, and much of the culture was unknown to the young half-elf. This is why he found Reynauld's threats to Laucien/Rupiter'us shocking. In the Feywild, one Eladrin would never dare to judge another against some abstract sense of morality or law, nor threaten his autonomy with incarceration. Such thinking would be anathema. Yes, one aggrieved elf might challenge another, demanding satisfaction in the form of a gift, an apology, or even a duel to the death, but it would be treated as a personal matter of honor and respect, not a high-handed attempt to impose social conformity. Daveed didn't know if elvish cultures in the Prime Material are the same, but he assumed they are. Much else was going on besides. Some in The Yawning Portal were clearly uncomfortable with Laucien/Rupitur'us' behavior and probably supported Reynauld's intervention. Yet others Ganth's spell! LOLin some unseen corner had cheered and applauded the elf's speech. Still others were ignoring the drama and continuing on with their team-making. Daveed decided upon his own response. It's time to show my quality and see what kind of allies I attract, he thought. Stepping boldly up to Laucien/Rupitur'us and Reynauld, yet with a friendly smile, he said to Reynauld, "My stalwart fellow, I'm sure Rupitur'us Mellon didn't mean any harm or offense to Master Durnan or the rest of us. Why, it's only high spirits and an eagerness to get on with the challenges below! Isn't that right, Rupitur'us Mellon?" Daveed appended "Rupitur'us" with "mellon," the elvish word for "friend," or "our friend" in this usage, to assuage the belligerent elf somewhat and imply their cultural connection. Not pausing for a response, he pushed on before either man could answer. "Let us make music together. Then Rupitur'us Mellon can resolve the matter with Master Durnan afterward. Sounds good? I'll get us started!" Engaging in community song and/or dance is the traditional Feywild Eladrin way of resolving social tensions, much like sharing a drink or a meal is in Waterdeep and other parts of Faerun. Of course, Daveed didn't know that inviting conflicting parties to "make music together" is a strange and foreign custom to Waterdhavians. Raising his arms and voice to draw in as much of the room's attention as possible, Daveed Performance roll a modified 20!starts singing an old tavern song, "Up in the Hayloft," one of several Waterdhavian songs his father had taught him: "Come gather 'round ye merry ones and hear a tale so bold Of couples caught in passion's hold, up in the hayloft old It's a place for trysts and secret games, where love and lust unfold So be careful where you step, lest you see more than you're told!" "Everyone now!," Daveed calls to the crowd. A few folks join in with the chorus: "Oh, up in the hayloft, it's a wild and woolly scene Where passions run high and hearts are unclean Be careful where you step up in the hayloft Lest you stumble upon some couple getting off!" And so on …   (Verse 1) Come gather 'round ye merry ones and hear a tale so bold Of couples caught in passion's hold, up in the hayloft old It's a place for trysts and secret games, where love and lust unfold So be careful where you step, lest you see more than you're told (Chorus) Oh, up in the hayloft, it's a wild and woolly scene Where passions run high and hearts are unclean Be careful where you step up in the hayloft Lest you stumble upon some couple getting off (Verse 2) There's Mary and Tom, a most unlikely pair But up in the hayloft, they just don't care He's a blacksmith, muscles like a bull She's a milkmaid, curvy and full (Chorus) Oh, up in the hayloft, it's a wild and woolly scene Where passions run high and hearts are unclean Be careful where you step up in the hayloft Lest you stumble upon some couple getting off (Verse 3) Then there's Jack and Rose, a lord and a maid They think no one knows, but they're often waylaid Up in the hayloft, where they can be alone But they forget to lock the door, and their cover's blown (Chorus) Oh, up in the hayloft, it's a wild and woolly scene Where passions run high and hearts are unclean Be careful where you step up in the hayloft Lest you stumble upon some couple getting off (Bridge) Now, we're not ones to judge or to pry But up in the hayloft, it's hard to be shy If you hear some noises, just turn and walk away Let the lovers have their fun, until the break of day (Chorus) Oh, up in the hayloft, it's a wild and woolly scene Where passions run high and hearts are unclean Be careful where you step up in the hayloft Lest you stumble upon some couple getting off (Outro) So up in the hayloft, it's best to beware Lest you witness some love that you can't un-see or un-hear Just mind your step and stay out of sight And leave the lovers to their passionate delight.

OOC/Info Possible Party Role Face, esp. good with elites. In combat, magic Controller with emphasis on illusion and enchantment. Appearance Young man of average height, slim, short red hair, fair skin, blue eyes, clean shaven. Probably mixed elvish and human heritage (half-elf). Handsome, almost pretty. Magnetic presence. Definitely a gentleman, yes, but also open and of good humor. He seems like the sort of person you could share a joke or gossip with, or enjoy the evening playing parlor games – so long as you remember your place. He is dressed in the Waterdeep equivalent of a Victorian/Edwardian gentleman's hunting or safari attire, perhaps something like this. In other words, "traveler's clothes" that are practical yet stylish, tailored, and classy. Affixed to his belt are a dagger and a wand, both in tooled leather sheaths.   AC: 12 HP: 8 Conditions:   Initiative: Move: Action: Bonus Action: Reaction: Concentration: Free Action: Performance leading and singing "Up in the Hayloft," Dice Roll: 1d20+6 (14)+6 Total = 20 (20) Special:

[Mitsubachi]

Sarathai "I am pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Treesinger," said Reynauld, with a flourish and a bow that delighted Sarathai. The gnome, Segwann was not so eager. Though he was as immediately animated as the paladin, in a different way. He leapt onto the table and suddenly latched onto her arm... with an intense and wiry strength that was quite surprising. Though he protested his unsuitability, Sarathai's instincts had rarely wronged her. She offered a kind and reassuring smile, and wondered if the curious little being would mind if she used her magical touch to inject just a little courage... It was at that moment that a commotion commanded the attention of everyone in the tavern. Sarathai turned and witnessed a well-dressed and obviously drunken fop challenging their host and playing with his weapons. Despite his inebriation, she did raise an eyebrow at the (currently marred by intoxication) skill that he demonstrated. Reynauld, however, had a different reaction, and immediately demanded apology for the insult of their landlord, or retribution. Oho! thought Sarathai, with relish. What a man of honour, and bravery! And now I have perhaps the chance to see how well he truly wields that sword. The immediate thought followed on after, And perhaps someone will need to see my skills at healing. She was distracted from studying this confrontation further as a movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. The half-elf magician in the red velvet attire had apparently noticed her earlier scrutiny. He now approached by way of magical apparition, his true movements hidden behind the mirage. Sarathai studied the technique, impressed though she did not want to be. It nettled her that such skill was used simply to show off. The wizard Ganth came before her. "It is impolite to stare," he mused, matter-of-factly. Indeed, thought Sarathai, noting how he also thoroughly surveyed her. Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. "Even more so to gossip. Regardless, I will make this brief: I will join your cadre on but one condition." Sarathai opened then closed her mouth, scandalised. Emotions sprang up and wrestled within her heart. She could not decide if she was more annoyed that this man was so arrogant as to assume she wanted to recruit him, or that this assumption was actually correct. He continued. "I am allowed discretionary study of any and all magical (or otherwise supernatural) artifacts that might come into the party's possession, should it pique my interest." Reynauld was otherwise engaged, Segwann was in no state to add to this, and Brok was still weighing things up, as far as Sarathai could tell. But she had something to say. "All magical artefacts, except one," she countered. "The Jadestone belongs to my kindred, it belongs to the Forest." She resisted jumping back in alarm as he conjured a disembodied magical hand right next to her. The meaning of the gesture was clear. She placed her own hand into the magical construct and prepared to shake. Then she thought of one more condition. She leaned in close and lowered her voice. "And you keep those conjured hands to yourself." It was then that she noticed the hardy woodsman had left the bar and joined them. Another hand was extended toward her, this one large and strong and marked with the weathering of one who works hard. "Name's Brok," he said in a rumbling tone, his voice deep but surprisingly warm. "I think your deal sounds fair to me. Durnan says we have to make a name for ourselves before he lets us go down. I plan to do just that. What about you?" Pleased by her judge of his character, Sarathai beamed back at Brok. Then she looked to the centre of the tavern, where it appeared more mayhem was about to be loosed. "I think we may have opportunity for just such a thing, soon, my friend."

Character Sheet

[Noltelix]

Modar Modar found himself in the Yawning Portal. Again. It seemed that every thread he pulled led invariably back to the place. Perhaps it was for the best. The missing gold, the wizard’s missing friend, that bastard Blackcloak… There were too many coincidences to be a coincidence and he’d come to terms with an uncomfortable truth. This was bigger than him. And so he had found his way back into the basement of the Yawning Portal, proverbial hat in hand. He needed help. It seemed the braggarts and peacocks were out in force. Durnan had just explained that none of “The Called” would be entering the portal and immediately people began shouting about entering the portal. And there goes the chandelier. Modar scanned the crowd, looking for the more measured among them. What he had in mind would take discretion, after all. He began to lose hope as one looked to outdo the next. An elf and a dwarf began moving through the crowd with purpose, both pedaling similar pitches about glory in the Undermountain from the sound of it, and a fancy looking human made to confront the fancier looking elf who had just dropped the chandelier. Modar tended to steer clear of the fancy crowd. Or, they tended to steer clear of him was likely the true gist of it. He began to pick out a few faces who looked to have compatible temperaments. A large, dour looking man near the bar was looking suitably unimpressed by the competitive preening. A dark elf also stood nearby. If even half of the stories were to be believed she would know something of the clandestine. His eyes landed as well on a halfling who appeared to be watching quietly but intently. Even as he contemplated approaching any of them, however, the large man was shaking hands with the lithe elf who had begun almost immediately to surround herself with a crowd. So much for first impressions then. He elected to settle in and observe. There was no sense in being hasty. The building voices hinted that discussions would likely go on for some time as the most eager to die shouted over each other. He decided he’d find the more prudent among them in those that remained unhurried anyway. “Let the rubes find each other,” he said to no one in particular as yet a third fancy man struck up a song.

OOC/Info Intro Stuff Appearance: Modar wears simple, darkly dyed commoner’s clothes under a well worn set of leather armor. A stained red traveler’s cloak completes the ensemble and his sallow face looks perpetually behind on sleep. He has unkempt, roughly cut black hair and piercing red eyes that seem to catch the firelight and simmer. He is watching the social jockeying keenly from a table near the bar. Potential party fit: Mechanics: ranged damage dealer, could be surprisingly beefy if he gets enough killing blows (refreshing Temp HP), solid “aggressive” social skills (deception and intimidation), decent investigation, passable sneaking with some light B&E skills, eventual out of combat ritual magic support if he goes with pact of the tome (plan at the moment) RP: a pretty firm commitment to helping the downtrodden/those in need, tending to land toward the taciturn end of the scale in most interactions, takes a promise or an oath seriously, a good heart with a rough exterior, used to being the last kid picked in dodge-ball and has come to terms with it Link to Sheet AC: 13 HP: 0/10/10 Spell Slots: 1/1 When you reduce a hostile creature to 0 hit points, you gain temporary hit points equal to your Charisma modifier + your Warlock level (5)Dark One’s Blessing You know the secret patterns and flow to cities and you can find passages through the urban sprawl which others would miss. When you are not in combat, you (and companions you lead) can travel between any two locations in the whole city twice as fast as your speed would normally allow.City Secrets Initiative: Move: Action: Bonus Action: Free Action:

[Grouchy]

Brok Anyard The big man nods his head in agreement at her words, but fortunately a Daveedred haired dandy interjects himself between the drunken elf and the scar faced man, hopefully avoiding the situation coming to blows. "Good head on fancy shoulders, that one," he remarks to her, then when the man starts singing, a ghost of a smile cracks his stoic demeanor. "Just as loud as the drunken one, though." He then turns his vulture-like gaze upon the half elf displaying his magical talents. A lot of pride and pomp in his demeanor, but the man certainly had talents that Brok had little to no knowledge of. Ignoring the celestial hand, he extends his big hand towards the half elf and remarks "So long as the pay is split fairly, you can study to your heart's content. Brok's the name."

Actions and Statistics AC: 14 | HP: 12/12 Move: Action: Bonus: Reaction: Current Effects: None.   Brok Anyard Brok Anyard | Variant Human | Ranger 1 | Feats: When you roll a 1 or 2 on a damage die for an attack you make with a melee weapon that you are wielding with two hands, you can reroll the die and must use the new roll, even if the new roll is a 1 or a 2. The weapon must have the two-handed or versatile property for you to gain this benefit.Fighting Initiate: Great Weapon Fighting. AC: Leather Armor +3 DEX14 | HP: 12/12 | Move: 30 feet. Initiative: +3 | Passive Perception: 14 | | Passive Investigation: 12 | Hit Dice: 0/1 (1D10). (STR +4 / DEX +5 / CON +2 / INT 0 / WIS +2 / CHA 0) Melee: +4 | Ranged: +5 Battleaxe | +4 strike, 1D8+2 slashing damage (1D10+2 if wielded with two hands). Great Weapon Fighting. Longbow | +5 strike, 1D8+2 piercing damage, range 150/600, 20/20 arrows. Dagger x2 | +5 strike, 1D4+3 piercing damage, range 20/60.   Acrobatics +3. Athletics +4. Insight +2. Intimidation +2. Investigation +2. Perception +5. Stealth +5. Survival +6. Spell-Casting Abilities: None yet. Racial and Background Abilities: Knows a few low level folks from his time inside.Background Feature: Criminal Contact. | Common. Dwarven. Elven. Orc.Languages | Bone Dice. Thieve's Tools.Tools Class Abilities: Proficient with light armor, medium armor, shields.Armor Proficiency | Gains expertise in Survival. Gains two languages.Deft Explorer | Gains advantage on Survival checks to track favored enemies. Gains advantage on INT checks to recall info about favored enemies.Favored Enemy: Beasts. | Proficient with simple and martial weapons.Weapon Proficiency