The evening started out without much incident. It was a casual evening in the bar and I was listening to the crowd murmur about various petty differences and vague rumours from far afoot.
There was quite a bit of noise coming from the bar itself, where a drunken barbarian was demanding a top-up, and further commotion from the dart boards, where a pair of hustlers were working the crowd. Why do they bother? They’re locals.
One of the deals must have gone sour, though, for the barman hollered through a tube in the wall beside the bar, and several lumbering oafs burst into the room, looking to pick a fight.
It was a fight they got, leaving several dead, much crockery broken, until someone blew a note on a bizarre whistle and a horse, furious, stamped into the room.
With few enemies left willing to fight we tried valiantly to calm the poor beast, but it was crazed with fury (or perhaps from something else?) and we finally had to deal it a death blow.
There’s nothing quite like a skirmish to separate your allies from plain chums; when the excitement was over we were left with five of us:
- Myself, Nodrog, a tiefling warden
- Rorie, and elven ranger
- Big Rock, a drunken human barbarian (I hope he sobers up)
- Fernando, a tiefling bard and
- Spurious, a dwarven invoker
The bartender, dazed as he was, implored us to seek the employ of a nobleman he was acquainted to. This nobleman, Lord Farrad, lived in his namesake, Farrad’s Keep as a Lord, far to the East. We set off on our way to meet him!
I wonder if that was just a ploy to get rid of us?