Immersive Ink

A young man, Serech by name, sits casually. Occasionally, he hand strokes something at his neck, as if reassuring himself. Of average height and built, with modest brown hair and eyes, only his Mail armor belies the look of a laborer. A blank shield sits near, with a mace balanced against the table leg. A helmet sits on the table in front of him.

"The Wizard speaks true. It will take more than any one of use to accomplish this task. As my Noni used to say 'He who seeks apples with friends will soon find some, he who seeks alone will make me have to go into the orchard to find their lost arses!' Not sure what that meant..."

A tall ruggedly handsome example of human masculinity with flowing golden locks, fine tailored clothes over his polished mail, checks his appearance in his highly polished shield before speaking. "Fear not for the legendary Lord Lawrence will undertake this mission with these four fine companions" as he winks at one of the barmaids.

There's a halfling you barely noticed who's now poking his head up from behind a large tankard of ale.

"I'll go with you all, if you like. I'll have you know I'm a deadeye shot with bow and sling. Name's Hetwhistle. Het is good enough to get my attention."

Het is dressed in mud colored leathers, and he has a cloak that's green on one side and tan on the other. Like every other halfling you've seen before, he's got large hairy feet, which you know because he eschews boots.

As the barmaid brings you drinks, she drops a hand on Lawrence's shoulder and squeezes.

"You look like a mighty tough bunch. Are you here to try the dungeon? The first two parties entered and never came back. I hear the people talking, and they think there must be a trap or ambush or something at the entrance. Some of the men talk in their sleep.

Anyway, you see those men over there? They look dangerous, but they seem to need a leader. They'd like to try their luck, but they are too scared. But they are also too broke to buy any drinks. They might hire on as sell swords."

She turns to look directly at Lawrence.

"Look me up if you make it out alive, big boy" then sways off to the kitchen

waysoftheearth wrote:

Golguldir has already identifed these Men by their grim demeanor and empty tankards, and approaches them critically.

Then, addressing several who he reckons to look most brave and able, he produces an affable smile--and his coin purse--and says smoothly: "Greetings Men of the Arms, and behold! I have here a purse of gold for a pair of capable Men willing to accompany me to depths below and guard my person. You'll recieve a months' pay tonight, and another upon our safe return here--surely the quickest coin you'll earn this night. Allow me to fill your cups while you think about it!"

The elf catches the eye of a serving wench and orders a round of drinks for his (anticipated) future staff...

sully wrote:Weaseling? I resent the implication! I'm as good at killin' stuff as any fighter in the party!

Yep, but AC 7s won't last long in the front rank

Most of them are not sure about dealing with an elf, but two of the bigger ones decide to chance it.

"A month's pay now, and another month's pay when we return? We''ll chance it. I'm Sigurd, my friend is Gunther. We've got helmet, mail, shield and sword, and charge 8 gold per month each. We haven't run from battle yet"

Makofan wrote:two of the bigger ones decide to chance it.

"A month's pay now, and another month's pay when we return? We''ll chance it. I'm Sigurd, my friend is Gunther. We've got helmet, mail, shield and sword, and charge 8 gold per month each. We haven't run from battle yet"

"You are brave indeed!" remarks Golduldir, appearing to be resoundingly impressed. "However, it is imperitive that any Man I employ be fleet enough to keep step with me. Who here has nimble feet as well as a stout heart?" he asks, scrutinising the other mercenaries who yet loiter at their tables...

waysoftheearth wrote:

Makofan wrote:two of the bigger ones decide to chance it.

"A month's pay now, and another month's pay when we return? We''ll chance it. I'm Sigurd, my friend is Gunther. We've got helmet, mail, shield and sword, and charge 8 gold per month each. We haven't run from battle yet"

"You are brave indeed!" remarks Golduldir, appearing to be resoundingly impressed. "However, it is imperitive that any Man I employ be fleet enough to keep step with me. Who here has nimble feet as well as a stout heart?" he asks, scrutinising the other mercenaries who yet loiter at their tables...

A bunch of men grin, and start pointing at a tall fellow, who looks a bit sheepish. "He's been known to run!" they yell

The man rises and bows. "Call me Archie. My friends and I don't wear all that heavy metal. A stiff leather jerkin, a stout shield and a sharp spear are good enough. I wrote a poem about our philosophy:

A goblin is waving my shield
I left it behind a tree
I was going to have to yield
Unless I elected to flee
So I fled off the field
Yes I decided to run
But I am still alive
And I can buy another one

The others clap and cheer

Then he adds "And we come at half the price!"