Roll for Initiative

Session 1

Our story begins with the arrival of a storm in the city of Calda. How appropriate as, more than anything, the Calda Crossroads is a place for gathering stories. It was a time when adventurers were not uncommon in the Juicy Mushroom, a tavern just inside the city walls. A visitor to the Mushroom could certainly expect to hear many a tale of far-away lands; maybe they've been wandering through Zamaratt and Jlewaru, seen the majesty of the Elven forest of Penlindra or borne witness to the grandeur of the Dwarven Empire. But our saga tonight begins only with a lone tiefling, by himself at the inn.

The rain outside blows against the side of the tavern, sloshing rhythmically as the wind whistles through the small windows. It reminds Sly Isaac of his time out at sea. Though terrifying at first, one can grow to prefer the inside of a ship, prefer to be immersed in the motion of the sea. Isaac, in a very real way, found himself at home upon those decks.

But Calda was also an easy town to find himself in. To anyone who asks, it doesn't matter why he came ashore, only that he's here in Calda now, and what's more he's made something of himself as a merchant, a trader, yes a legitimate businessman, even! And yet... Pulling his cloak tightly around himself, the tiefling orders another ale, feeling a chill settle into his scaly skin. His time as a legitimate entrepreneur hasn't exactly dulled his paranoia, and there was an odd feeling in the air. The tiefling swigs his ale. It's probably nothing. It's positively toasty inside the safety of the inn, a fire roaring and the patrons laughing as a bard plucks a bawdy tune in an overstuffed armchair.

On previous nights, at the city's edge, there was the usual bustle of traders and carts, but the storm has left only the steady drone of rain in their place.

That monotony comes to a swift end as the door to the inn bursts open. A stranger steps forward, a peculiar sort of man. To start he looks like something straight out of a story book -- a knight in actual shining armor, a magnificent sword strapped to his back and a shield in one hand. All of this is not even to mention that he's blue. One might think he was left in the rain too long and had frozen to death, if not the fact that his cheeks flush a deeper cerulean as he removes his damp cloak and fusses with his hair.

The tavern door opens again. This time an elf, with a small library's worth of books under his arm, and an exceedingly stern expression. His mouth is a thin line, and his eyes narrow as he surveys the inn. He's dressed in fine crimson robes that seem perfectly dry. Sly Isaac watches them closely, hands near his throwing axes. The larger, bluer man lingers next to his companion briefly before struggling to shut the door behind him. There is a pause around them, as if the entire inn is deciding what sort of people they are. All sorts of people come through the crossroads of Calda, but these people are unusual even by the inn's metropolitan standards. The blue knight waves his arm, pulling a handful of tiny droplets out of the elf's hair. His companion glowers at him in response. The knight turns to address the tavern, speaking in a booming voice:

"Good evening, fellow patrons! Might we inquire about a hearty meal?" he says. "And some ale, if you've got it! Elven perhaps, for my lord?" He turns his attention towards the bard. "By all means, man, don't stop the festivities on our account!"

He locates the innkeeper behind the bar, and shouts at him for a bit. "Do you perhaps have a room for the evening? We have many miles to cover-and the rain has left us quite wet! Well, one of us anyway." He frowns, then continues.

The man is....loud...but his demeanor carries an extremely cheerful affectation, which is...unexpected. One might call it grating. Annoying, even.

"Are you seriously going to talk like that the whole game?"

Phoenix turns to the source of the complaint, trying to put on a straight face. "What?" he asks. "I'm just getting in character."