Meetup: Welcome to Ashvale
Log Info
- Title: Meetup: Welcome to Ashvale
- Emitter: Ashes
- Characters: Aryia, Jinks, Zofija, Molly
- Place: Alexandros Wilderness
- Time: Thursday, September 08, 2022, 9:57 PM
- Summary: An unusual dream which seems to be both specifically and randomly targeted draws several adventurers to a remote town in the Alexandros Wilderness. There, they find they have been summoned by an old foe with a new problem. The town needs to be cleansed! Exactly why and whether they should do this is debated with their unexpected employer.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dreaming =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. Zofija 5'8" 225 Lb Hobgoblin Female A well-dressed Arvek-Nar with a big hammer. Molly 5'1" 122 Lb Half-Elf Female An ash skinned half-elf with red glasses. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A NightMare -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Dreams... can be funny things. Wisps, impressions, easily forgotten upon waking, or devilishly detailed and seeming like a lifetime of experience, passing in an instant. Sometimes a dream is just a dream, but under Eluna's eye they can be much more.
Or have more prosaic explanations.
For a certain gnome bard, the feel of the strings of the weave being pulled are more obvious. For everyone that receives it, the sudden, music that disturbs the sleep is evil, powerful. A warbling alarm. The song that accompanies it is sung by an oddly familiar voice.
- "It all comes back to you"
- "Open fire on my burning heart"
- "I've never been lucky in love"
- "My defenses are down"
- "A kiss or a frown"
- "I can't survive on my own."
- "Send me an angel... send me an angel..."
- "Right nowwww."
A feminine voice. A call for help. A strangely specific location in the Alexandros wilderness. A jarring awakening to one's sleeping arrangements - which are completely silent.
GAME: Jinks rolls Kerception: (1)+Kerception: 1 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Aryia rolls knowledge/local: (5)+2: 7 (vs DC15 - Fail) GAME: Aryia rolls knowledge/nobility: (7)+2: 9 (vs DC15 - Fail)
For a certain scarred, mute mul'neissa woman, she is currently, at present, asleep on her couch at home. Sewing supplies all around her, pinned up drawings, textiles, fabrics, lace. She's been hard at work getting two commissions done as fast as physically possible.
The wandering music jars her awake to her feet. Fists raised, glowing eyes darting around. She's not very intimidating considering her... sleep attire. An oversized shirt and lack of pants. Aryia is at home, who can blame her?
What was that about again? An angel? She'd slap one. Actually. That's on the bucket list right under slapping a dragon. Shit, this is going to require pants, isn't it? With a groan, she vanishes into her room to get dressed before setting out.
Waking with a start sends amber liquid jumping out of a crystal tumbler drooping in a slack grip. The spirits splash against the hardwood of the ballroom floor as Jinks blinks black-eyes blearily, attempting to sort out the contents of the empty hall in the dim light spilling through tall windows. Unlit chandeliers, furniture lining the walls covered in sheets and tarps, and a few unoccupied chairs lurking lonely at the center of the room.
No vocalist. Well... no other vocalist; the gnome's only companions a mouth of cotton and an aching pressure behind his right eye. He considers the remaining dregs of his glass briefly before draining them in the hopes of postponing the payment due for a day's revelry.
Frowning, Jinks stands and turns, still dressed in his sloppy state of undress with his shirt untucked and belt opened. A decanter clatters complaint when he kicks it unseen in the darkness. "Of all the nights for an encore," mutters the gnome as he works at crawling all the way back to wakefulness.
GAME: Jinks rolls Knowledge/Local: (14)+20: 34 (vs DC15 - Success) GAME: Jinks rolls Knowledge/Geography: (18)+18: 36 (vs DC15 - Success) GAME: Jinks rolls Knowledge/Nobility: (1)+18: 19 (EPIC FAIL) (vs DC10 - Still kind of succeeds) GAME: Jinks rolls Knowledge/Arcana: (8)+20: 28 (vs DC25 & DC30 - Success, Fail) GAME: Jinks rolls Knowledge/the Planes: (4)+19: 23 (vs DC25 - Fail) GAME: Zofija rolls knowledge/nobility: (10)+4: 14 (vs DC10 - Success)
When Zofija awoke, it was rather suddenly, and accompanied by a pounding headache and a long groan. "Fucking hell, I shouldn't have wagered that oruch I could drink him under the table. Winning wasn't worth the cost." The arvek-nar grumbles to herself. "Giving weird dreams too, don't think that was my brain trying to make sense of that cute waitress, either."
Well, she was up now, somewhat. Nothing to do for it but wash up, dress, and maybe do something about the hangover. It's a town, that spot that came to mind. That's the location of one of the towns that was evacuated early. It's not Wilderness point but it's a similar outpost on the edge of great nothing.
On some further reflection, the singer sounded like she was pretending to be a noble but wasn't actually one.
That could have a sending spell, or something very similar to it.
Sending spells don't usually come with a growing sense of urgency. A geas might. That would require a caster with some personal knowledge, or a personal item.
Aryia is huffy as she's getting her things together. Writing a note where she was off to. Giving a sleepy Venom a peck on the forehead. Clipping on gear. Jacket. Check. Why was this taking so long? Ugh.
A thought crosses her as she's locking her door up. Why /was/ she seeking this out? Angel slappage? No. As fun as that'd be, she's been keeping it chill. Door lock. Hrm. Feels out of place. Whatever. Something is getting slapped, she feels it in her bones.
Dark blue boots set out in the night.
Sleep remains a possibility. It could be an undigested bit of biftek, a clot of custard, a crumb of curd, a fragment of sweet potato pie. There may be more of gravy than of gravitas to the anxiety, the stomach upset. It could be just a bad dream.
Even as the realms of sleep stretch further away.
"Serves them right, pretending to be a noble. Like someone would want to do that." The arvek-nar grumbles to herself while scrubbing her face and the sleep away.
Well, that was a pretty narrow view, they could have decent reasons. Possibly. If it was some magic missive, there was no knowing who it was intended for, or how many people it reached.
There's more grumbling to herself as she pulls on a shirt and pants, and the rest of her armor, just in case. The hat would help hide how little sleep she managed to get as an added bonus.
Buckling his belt, Jinks steps to the window and hums a calming tune that's barely more than a subtle vibration in his jaw. The butterflies at play in his gut aren't of the same provenance as his headache and dry mouth. He considers the moon and stars... and then turns to eye the dark eastern wing of the estate.
There's a heavy sigh and he quits the vantage, stooping on his way to the massive doors to scoop up his discarded coat. He makes pause to peak and consider the bounced and furtive light of unseen house staff. The darkness presses in around him and washes off as he moves into the hall in servant's attire wearing someone else's face. He's unlikely to be spotted but fewer questions are always a boon.
Out in the night's icy chill, the gnome gives a shiver and lets loose another sigh. He crosses the grounds and steps between the garden's topiary. Moments later, he's airborne and flying down from the mountainside towards the northern gates.
It's the small hours of the night, and while Alexandria is multicultural, most conduct business in the daylight and the 'night owls' or night-eye blessed have adapted to that. Few people are about, patrols mostly, sticking to the roads lit by mana-lights.
And adventurers, recognizable faces from the Explorers Guild are converging on the Northern Gates. More than three have heard the call, but several scowling faces show frustration at having received it and after conversations of "how far away is it?" and "are we getting paid?" A lot turn back, determined to quell whatever feelings and dreams they have with alcohol or a brawl.
The gate guards are suspicious at the unexpected gathering of adventurers, but willing to let whomever want to exit, to exit.
Outside the gates, there's a waiting coach.
Aryia is walking. Well. Walking for her is a run for most. And the light jog wakes her the rest of the way up. She's no stranger to being nocturnal, it's not like the night is when the damn sun is asleep or anything.
She's soon to join the scowling faces, surprised that more came, but still annoyed she was woken up in the night as she had two wedding attires to finish in...
Yawn. She waves a guard down, scowls questioningly, then points at the coach just waiting there. Menacingly.
"Yeah, he showed up a while ago." The guard shrugs, "From inside. We weren't going to let him out but he said passengers would be coming, then they did. When soothsaying adventurer shit starts happening, best to get out of your way."
He shrugs again, "Maybe he'll kill you all in the wilderness, don't know. That's a Ranger problem."
Aryia stares at the guard. Gives a thumbs up. Then flips them the bird for the hopeful notion that she might be /killed/. Especially after helping out with that undead worm shit.
Jinks lands lightly towards the edge of the gathering with his shoulder-length hair a loose mess and his cheeks flushed from the cold. His right-eye is a bit squinty and bruised. A quick scan of the crowd and he hovers the short distance towards the front of the coach and squints up at the driver.
"Your lady would be met with happier help if she followed the protocols push into place and didn't interrupt wicked's rest." The gnome's voice starts out a hoarse croak and he needs a moment to conjure what little saliva he can manage. He hides his mouth behind a bejeweled hand when he clears his throat.
The silk shirt is still untucked and his moss-colored coat trimmed in gold only buckled about the waist. No blade, no bow, and no quiver adorn the little bard; he came in a hurry.
Zofija was looking a bit better after picked up a hangover cure from one of the shops that was still open, as staying open after the bars was a lucrative business indeed. Unfortunately, that only left them with more energy to focus on being annoyed at the gathering that had shown up at the gates.
"Damn, whoever this was seems to have an eye on the goings on in the city." Zofija sighs. "So, coachman, you want to explain why you're expecting us and where you're supposed to be going? I'm going to say you, since I haven't made up my mind if I'm coming along or not."
"Not my Lady, nie moje malpy." A robotic sounding voice croaks a reply to Jinks, the driver of the coach turning with a rusty creek. Red glowing eyes fix on the little gnome. "Hop on! The wheels on Coach go round and round. Someone wants me to get you there quickly. We'll all find out when we all fall down."
>Creeeeaaaaak< The coachman's head turns to face Zofija, "It's a wilderness outpost north of the lake and across the Tornmwrar. The name slipped... slipped... slipped my mind. I know where it is."
Aryia sighs slightly as she's one of the few deciding to go forth on this, it made clear from her stepping forward towards her. At least her shoulder lax seeing a gnomish dandy. She gives a tired wave to him, glowing gaze settling on his right eye. She quirks a brow at him before turning to the driver.
She stares. Then looks to the Nar she's yet to meet. Stare. Back to the driver. A long sigh escapes her, hands rubbing her face before she takes a half step towards the ride. Indicating her willingness to go forward with it. As well as the general 'I want to get this over with and go back to bed'.
"... Oh, hey. Guess you got roped into this too, huh?" The arvek-nar chuckles weakly as some of the annoyance bleeds away when it was directed at someone undeserving. "Well, I doubt I'll get a good night's sleep otherwise, so not like I've got much of a choice. Time to see why someone decided to piss off every mercenary in Alexandria all at once, yeah?"
"Yes, it has... hasn't it," Jinks answers the construct-man. His inflection marking tue question as rhetorical; it's an elusive name, after all. "Let's avoid the falling down part. That'll just lead to getting back up again... as some people will never be kept down."
The gnome mutters something about pissing the night away under his breath.
One last, long look at the driver and then he spares Zofija a nod and offers Aryia a shrug. "Nothing like being at the beck and call of powerful women," he smirks before climbing into the coach.
Aryia glances to Jinks, squints, then rolls her eyes in a, 'I hate that you're right,' as she clambers aboard behind him.
Out of the darkness, a figure approaches the coach. At first, that's all it is; just a figure. As they come closer, it becomes clear that they're armed, with some sort of polearm held in hand, as they stop and look, evaluating what they see, still from rather far off.
Whoever it is, they must've decided that this is the place where they're supposed to be, as they resume their approach, weapon still in hand. Gradually, as footfalls crunch over gravelly ground, the figure coalesces from the darkness into a female Mul'Niessa -- or at least, one who's half Mul, and half Human. The figure of Molly approaches, and returns her glaive to its sling on her back as she gets close.
"Looks like my dream was telling the truth," she observes, as she bounces up into the coach as well. "Hope this isn't a big mistake!"
"If a powerful woman is bossing me around, I like it to be because I'm okay with it." The Arvek-nar grunts as she pulls herself up and onto the carriage. "This is just being forced, and not in a good way."
"Well, I really hope it's not a mistake, too. Only time will tell though, and I'm not too hopeful given the circumstances. Best I can do is be around in case things go bad." Zofi sighs to the mul'niessa who joined them.
"Exactly! Wise words from a postcard from far away, spoke of a time long ago. I laughed myself silly on that Saturday, singing 'here we go'." Coach creaks, replying to Jinks before rotating his head fully around to face forward. The coach itself rocks as everyone climbs aboard and the weight redistributes. The doors clank shut, gears whrring to slide locking bars across them. Coach's voice is heard inside through a speaking tube, though he's also croaking to the countryside. "Here we go."
- "Here we go."
- "I'm a taxi driver."
- "I'm a postal worker."
- "I'm a striking docker"
- "I'm a bus driver."
- "I'm an ex-miner."
- "I'm a winner, baby."
- "I'm a winner."
With each sentence, the coach wheels go round and round, faster and faster. Creaks and spring squeaks grow louder as the carriage bounces with increasing violence. Coach cackles like he has a screw loose, "I got an upgrade!"
Outside, the darkness flies by, filled with countryside.
Aryia is... not sure how to take this. She's in a coach, going quite fast. Faster than perhaps even she could manage. And the doors lock. And there's two strangers. One's part mul'neissa. She's glaring at them. Sitting on her hands, white knuckled underneath.
And then the coach doesn't shut. Up. Her long ears pin to the side of her head in annoyance as her glowing gaze shifts to the country side. >Thud<.
That's her forehead against the glass, face smooshing against it and shearing slightly as she slides down it. A long exhale leaves her, fogging the window.
Molly, for her part, seems to be perfectly happy to be here. More or less. Well, aside from the fact that she's inside a coach that seems to be some degree of sentient, she's surrounded by people she doesn't know, and she's allowing herself to be driven into who knows what sort of danger because she had a weird dream.
And yet, she's here, so there's really nothing to do now but enjoy the ride.
"Hi!" she pipes up, after a few minutes of riding. "I'm Molly Nephenee, Priestess of Navos." She pauses, glancing back and forth. "...How is everyone tonight?"
Zofija is relatively quiet where she was sitting, which was a spot in one corner that accommodated the cavalier. "Ah, glad I took that kindness before coming here, or whatever's left from last night's dinner would be out on the floorboards." She grumbles. "Well, at least we'll make good time, assuming he doesn't upturn the carriage with his driving. There's no guarantee on that."
"Tired, slightly hungover, and annoyed someone seems to be egging me on to help them when I don't feel like helping them." She sighs to the priest. "Zofija, people call me Zofi."
"How about a rousing round of Nine Hundred and Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the wall?" Coach's voice bark through the tube. "There's Nine Hundred and Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall. Take one down and smash it down, Nine Hundred and Ninety Eight Bottles of Beer on the Wall!"
Jinks isn't entirely sure he's awake and so he's happy to take this sitting down. For now. Coyote laughs and all that. It might be professional bias but things seem to rarely go too badly when there's singing.
Well, there was that one time he got pulled into a seasonal rite with a demigod squatting inside his head for the duration. It was a unique experience, at least, and no one was hurt; certainly nothing to cry into your beard over.
"Jinks," the gnome answers Molly with a smile-- and then Zofija's describing her current state of being. This leads to the gnome lighting up a bit and waving a finger between them in a 'you and me both, sister!' sort of way.
Then the coach, Coach, is singing rounds as they coach. "Mulria's sideways smile," grumbles the gnome. "Who bottles -beer-?" He turns his lip at the thought of wasting valuable glass for such a basic drink.
The heavily scarred mul'neissa woman in a green buckle jacket flinches as Molly pipes up, her glancing over and- she squints. A priestess. Her face smooshes further against the glass as a hand digs around for something in a jacket pocket. A scrap of paper is freed, and she half halfheartedly shows it towards Zofija and Molly. It reads in large letters.
'My name is Aryia.'
How is she doing? Thumbs down. Nine hundred and ninety- A vein pulses on her head. Deep breath In. Out. At least she's in agreement with Jinks about bottling beer.
Dawn comes, many hours and bruises later, the sky growing lighter in greys and rose-es, sunlight creeping down the canopy of leaves to reach the road that Coach the coach is flying along. Until there are no more leaves, no trees, just blasted stumps.
This is the destination, that mental sense of place, the town in the wilderness, except the town is gone and also the wilderness. In the early morning gloom only one thing is visible, a large, brightly coloured Vardo sitting just off the track. An exceptionally large Swiftclaw is yoked to the front, seemingly asleep.
As Coach pulls up, the rear shutters fly open, a green haired woman leaning out and cheering, "It worked! They came!"
She's immediately pulled away from the portal, another woman peering at the approaching vehicle. "Wait? Them? Why'd you call THEM?"
A slap fight commences as the second woman is pulled back. The first arguing, "Adventurers are like goldfish, they have pitifully short memories and will do anything for coin. It's fine! It'll be fine!"
And re-appearing. "Greetings Adventurers! I'm the Mayor of... rr... Here! And our town needs your help. Mind the snakes."
A practiced tramp, Jinks utilizes a skill honed in noisy pubs and taverns over decades and dozes through the rough and tumble coach ride from the city. His arms are crossed and his nimble little fingers (with their jewels and rings) are stuffed into his coat. He mumbles half-words in gnative gnomish smothered by the enthusiastic cacophany of the construct coach, Coach. The frowning and wincing indicate that it might not be the most pleasant dream-- or it might just be borne of the bouncing buggy.
"... ugh," Jinks groans. A sandpaper tongue licks at dry lips. He squints out of the coach and pushes his lips together before turning his eyes heavenwards. "Well, I think I'm ready to wake up," he half-jokes as he uncrosses his arms and flexes his fingers.
Zofija was happy to get out of the carriage when it was stopped, even if she has to squint a bit upon realizing the sun was up now. And that the requesting folk weren't too happy to see them either.
"Alright alright, stop slapping each other, you're acting worse than the stupid adventurers you're so against showing up." The arvek-nar grunts. "If you'd like, I'd happily leave if you promise not to interrupt the sleep of every member of the adventurer's guild again. Or, we can help if you have reason for us being here. Why can't you even remember the name of the place we're supposed to be helping?"
Aryia tries to sleep in the coach. Meditative techniques and various 'curl up in a ball on the bench and the floor' is attempted. But it just doesn't pan out between the high speeds and the five hundredth bottle being smashed down. The sleep she gets is a wink at best. Reminds her of ye olden days before Alexandria.
And when dawn comes, her signature shades her affixed firmly to her face. Dark, purple backs under her eyes. Disheveled. The antics between the two woman is stared at with a dead, tired, half-annoyed expression. Idle thoughts wonder if she slaps the green haired one hard enough, will the color move to the other one?
Can she get out of the coach? She gets out of the coach if she can. Despite how much she wants to complain, the quickest way forward is to figure out what the hell is going on. Index and thumbs make two circles as she alternates her hands forwards and backwards. It's an odd motion, but even odder is that those that don't speak it... just get the gist of it. "Explain." <Handspeech/Tongues>
The devastation is easily several square miles. A forest fire has ripped through, reducing everything to charred stumps, at most a few feet high, with piles of ash surrounding them. There don't appear to be any snakes.
On second glance, there are shapes in the distance that might be the ruins of buildings cooked to their foundations. Suspicious corners, a half a wall, a gap that could have been a window. Also buried in drifts of ash. As the sun rises and the rose colours of dawn grow brighter, some of the reddish hues linger. It's not a trick of the light.
Some of the piles look like flesh, indistinct lumps of striated muscle clumped... everywhere.
"Far as I go passengers." Coach says, "In fact, think I'll roll back a spell. Hop out, hop out."
"Well..." The woman in the window crosses her arms and squints at Zofija. She grunts, "We're renaming it! I was just elected Mayor. Unanimously."
"Two to one!"
"Majority! First past the post!" She waves back at Aryia, an odd motion that no one gets the gist of. "You're small, and maybe skilled. We need that to rebuild all the things. Plus there's the... whatever it is. The wights weren't a problem, neither were the worms."
The other voice comes from inside the wagon, laughing, "You know what worms can't do? They can't fly, the suckers!"
The mayor chuckles, "They can't fly. Heh. Oh Right. So after that, there's all the gunk to clean up. Don't get too close."
"... you'll want to keep back from the wagon, ladies." Jinks suggests as he eases himself out of the coach and rests his fingers lightly against the right side of his head. He takes a deep breath, holds it with his eyes closed, and fidgets with his rings.
"The three of you couldn't find someplace further from the city? Miles away from the nearest roads?" The gnome wonders at the bickering trio, taking a few steps to one side and craning his neck to see into the conveyance. "Maybe a nice, secluded island. Just you and some snakes?"
The bard smirks and snaps his fingers, giving Aryia a sidelook and spelling out "V-O-U-I-V-R-E." <handspeech>
The fire was certainly an unpleasant business, but the way those who called them there were acting wasn't earning much in the way of sympathy from the arvek-nar. Perhaps it was a laugh to not cry situation, but it didn't seem like it yet.
"Yeah, thanks coach, stick around though, in case it's a short visit." She calls back to the driver.
"You aren't really doing a good job explaining why you needed our help, and so urgently." Zofija sighs. "If you need people to rebuild, why not you know, call for some craftspeople? Or crew to clean up? If you can't afford to hire them, then maybe you should be looking at new places to stay. Being mayor of three people really doesn't mean much."
Molly hops out of hte coach, and looks around immediately for snakes. Which, she doesn't see any of. But there is a whole lot of... well, weirdness. A town of three people (one of whom is a mayor elected with a 2/3 vote, likely with one of those votes being, well, their own), burnt buildings, and clumps of... flesh?
"Uhm... I don't know about building, but building isn't really my specialty," she offers, carefully. "I'm a priestess and a healer. I try to follow the non-violent route but, I mean, I've got a big sharp glaive in case the non-violent way doesn't work out. But that said..." she shrugs lightly, "How can we help?"
And then, something clicks in Molly's brain. Wait a sec. If they said mind the snakes, but she sees no snakes, what if the snakes are invisible?
Aryia casts her gaze out and around, a languid, lazy look. One that makes her pinch the bridge of her nose. Which pinches harder at what seems to be flesh. A hand waves the damn coach away, her already out of the hell ride.
She stares at the Mayor for a moment at being called 'small' and 'somewhat skilled'. She is small, this undeniable. But 'somewhat'?
She looks to Jinks, and after that fingerspelling, she /finally/ breaks her annoyed expression with a 'pfft' with puffed cheeks, stifling a laugh.
A breath leaves her as she jabs a thumb towards Molly, agreeing bout not being a builder. Hands move again. Flat upright palms to the side, flipped over finger-guns, flat up right palms again, lower. "What happened here?" <Handspeech>
"Well we HAD an island but SOMEONE didn't want to negotiate." The 'mayor' of Ashville says. Her arms can't cross any harder. She leans out towards Jinks.
"I wanted to be rescued!" The other woman.
"Don't step on the snakes!" The major sighs, facing the Arvec Nar, then unfolds her arms to point off in the distance, "Because it's not safe for regular crafters, and adventurers have spells like 'Build a Castle overnight' and there's all the tunnels full of gold and gems and treasure."
"And gunk."
"And gunk, and we're too big." The mayor points at Molly next, "She's small. You're small. Hi. Priestess." She's waving both hands now, "that fleshy stuff started growing in the holes the worms left behind, then growing out of them. Then all over. Fire doesn't work. It's not undead. It tries to do... things... if you get too close."
The mayor smiles happily, "So go kill it! Then help us rebuild for when all the people come back!"
A few hours ago, Molly was asleep, wearing a pretty light nightgown and wrapped up happily in a warm blanket.
Now, she's in the middle of the wilderness, confronted with people who may or may not have lost their sanity somewhere along the line, there's a potentially hostile fleshy... thing, and there may or may not be invisible snakes.
"Uhm, sure! No problem!" she replies. "We'll see what we can do!"
"Yeah, I'm sure the tunnels are filled with gold and treasure for all of us goldfish brained adventurers who will slit some sleeping owlbear's throat for a sack of gold. Well, owlbears are usually a threat to everyone around them, but you know what I mean." The arvek-nar grumbles, quickly losing her patience. "If you wanted help, then make a request at the guild like anyone else, please. If you wanted someone to just magically build a castle, it would help to specify that, too."
"Speaking of threats, that sounds like one, still. We should probably take a closer look, so we can make a report at the very least."
Aryia's attention flicks between the two inhabitants of the city, brows furrowed. Some conclusions drawn out in her head already. Her gestures are more complicated. And more annoyed. "So weird gunk grew out of the ground and you... burned the town to the ground trying to get rid of it?" she extrapolates. "What the fuck does it even do if you get near it?"
She glances to the priestess who's can-do attitude is something that should be a prime example to replicate. Aryia, however, has an attitude, but the others seem ready to roll with it.
She has wedding dresses to make not... rebuild a town and kill weird shit.
"... fine. The fuck we doing?" She gives up. <Handspeech/Tongues>
"Thanks Priestess! I'm glad you can help." The 'mayor' yawns briefly, then smiles at the half helf. Her teeth weren't normal. Too pointy...
She follows this with a frown and a grumbling reply directed at Zofija, "Exactly. Lots of tunnels and treasure that hobgoblins love to lurk around in. And I don't know if we need a castle."
"Do we need a castle?" Her partner asks, pushing back into view. Both of them crowding the Vardo's back window.
"Right!" The mayor asks cheerfully, "Do we need a castle? I don't know. We need a town. Full of Town Stuff! I don't what a town needs. I'm delegating. Do we need a castle? A slaughterhouse? A bathhouse? A bathhouse slaughterhouse? Let's find out!"
The second woman nods to Aryia, "Yup. Lots of burning. It didn't work. Well... first it does nothing, then it kind of shakes like it notices you, then it explodes a bunch of itself at you trying to shove a bone in you. Then it tries to grow over you."
"Lots of cleanup needed. Smart adventurers needed. So we got you guys."
OOC
Inspirational Music!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Z2i3-gxJaY
<OOC> Ashes says, "So, this is a meetup, I guess. It's not approved and there are aspects that might not be fair and I don't know, kind of a scene I was thinking about so we'll see how it goes and if it sucks and you don't like it, it can be retconned and it might be anyhow"