0.1 | Riverthanks in Heirwater

Festival colors. Shimmering heat. The noise of a joyful crowd echoing off stonework baking in the noon sun. The scent of flower garlands and spiced drinks mixing in the bright air... all of these are an intoxicating combination, and the city of Heirwater is happily drunk on summer and celebration and--well, sure, okay, drunk on wine, too.

"Names and purpose! NAAAAAMES and puuuuur-POSE!" shouts a red-helmed guard from the shade of the drawbridge gatehouse just ahead.

You're standing on the broad stone surface of one of the two great bridges that lead from the Market Square to the edge of the Hill. Far below, the River Heirwater courses along its banks, filled with boats of every size, sporting sails, pennants, and banners of every color. Today, on the great festival day of Riverthanks, the Hill is open to the public. Normally, walking through the gatehouse doors would require a thorough cross-examination, or papers identifying your business in the Fortress or Academy of the Heir. But today, all the guards want are--

"NAAAAAMES!!" bellows the guard. "State your NAMES and your PURPOSE! If you're here to view the grounds, SAY so and be QUICK, there's plenty of folks before AN' behind you!"

He's not wrong. It's taken the better part of an hour to get to this gatehouse, filing up the drawbridge in an ever-narrowing line. What had begun as a milling throng has become a series of ragged bunches of friends or strangers, linked together like sausages roasting in the summer sun. These groups shuffle forward together as those ahead are let through the gatehouse doors by threes and fives. Your group is a strange one, and you have attracted some odd looks from those around you. A guard in green Fortesqueue armor, a woman alone, an unassuming merchant... these three might have passed without much comment. The scholarly half-elf might have been of some interest to those waiting in line... if he had not been overshadowed by the enormous form of a bull-headed minotaur, breathing heavily in the baking sun.

You're starting to wonder whether it was really worth it to leave the cool breezes and amusements of the Market Square behind. Of course, you want to gain access to the Hill, but maybe noon was the wrong time to do it. Of course, it's not like you can really turn back now. Behind you stretches a long line of peasantry and merchants, filling every inch of the drawbridge, all the way back down to the packed square. You see the grand facades of the Six Shops, bedecked for the day in flowers and ribbons, and beyond them, the wide bowl of the city rising up the sides of the great valley through which the Heirwater runs.

"YOU LOT!! NaaaAMES and purpose!" The group of robed figures ahead of you steps forward and mutter to the Montulet guard at the gate, casting squinted glances back at the minotaur and the Fortesqueue in your midst. After a moment, the guard lets them through. They move quickly, whispering rapidly as they disappear into the shadow beyond the gate.

"NAAAAMES and puuuuur-POSE!" shouts the guard at you.

Finally.

OOC: Roll initiative, then step forward and state your name and purpose to the guard!

Tosher, roll a quick intimidation check?

Even a half-hearted attempt at intimidation by the minotaur is enough to make the guard cringe. "Hey, look, I'm just a recruit--you can go in, the Hill is open today." He steps back, allowing Tosher and the others to pass. Trying to reclaim a little of his dignity, he sneers at Eldrick's green uniform.

"Try and keep that beast from killing anyone up there, Fortesqueue. It'd be a shame for that to happen on your watch. NAAAAAMES!!"

You all filter into the relative darkness of the gate. It's an enormous stone pylon 2/3rds of the way along the drawbridge, practically a fortress in itself, filled with the heavy machinery required to raise the drawbridge in case the Hill were to ever be attacked... although, of course, that's unthinkable. What army would be crazy enough to mount an assault on Heirwater?



Your vision goes green from the sharp contrast as you step out of the sunlight, and as a group you practically barge into the robed figures who had walked the bridge in front of you.

"Watch yourself!" one of them hisses, whirling to bare his stained yellow teeth. The three are dressed alike, in black cloaks held across their tunics by a red cord with a single knot in the center, strung horizontally across the neck--almost like a wound.

Dex saving throw

The man with the yellow teeth reels backwards, knocking into the stone wall. His two companions hang back with him, allowing the group to pass. Around the party, the mood of the crowd shifts from good-natured impatience to wariness... although fights are inevitable on Riverthanks--with that much wine flowing, things always get looser towards sundown--most fights don't involve a minotaur. Those ahead of the group hurry ahead, and those behind hang back, leaving a little empty air around them as the party passes over the end of bridge and onto the cool grass of the open courtyard of the Hill.



You step back into the brilliant summer sunlight—much more pleasant here in the green quiet of the courtyard. It's filled with festival-goers milling around, gazing up in wonder at the stately buildings. Some of them have been here before, on previous Riverthanks visits, but for many, it's their first time glimpsing the soaring walls and flying buttresses of the Fortress of the Heir, and the two Colleges of the Heir's Academy to the left and right. Guards are positioned throughout the crowd and at every door, to prevent access to the interiors of the buildings, but small paths wander through groves of finely-cultivated trees and under shady archways.

It's a beautiful place, and it echoes with sounds of wonder and the sound of falling water at the central fountain. The crowd around you is eager to disperse, to see the sights and--to be fair--to get away from the party, who receive more than a few wary looks.

OOC: It's common knowledge--although Tosher seems to have gotten some misinformation--that if you touch the central wide, flat paving stone in the middle of the Market Square at midnight on Riverthanks, you'll have incredible luck the coming year. Well, that's what the legend says, anyway. It may be frustrating for Tosher to learn that the Market Square is where he just came from, an hour ago, across the drawbridge.

[Passes a few notes, waits to see how the conversation with Xulara and Tosher shakes out.]

The guard goggles at Tosher, nudging his fellow Fortesqueue. "Oy, look at that, Wilfred! That cow-man just talked at me!"

Wilfred shakes his head, "Corey, you idiot. That ain't a cow-man, that's a mini-tar. I learned about them in school, I did. Smart as people, they say!"

"No, really? Smart as people, even?"

"Oh, yes," Wilfred replies, puffing out his chest, "not as clever, however, or as large as the MAXI-tar. Now that's something to really see. Big enough to blot out the sun, and ever so h'intelligent!"

"I never even heared of such a thing! Wilfred, you know everything, don't you?"

"Well, I DID go to two whole years of school, Corey--when you've had learning such as myself, you come to realize--"

Wisdom saving throw vs. intimidation

OOC: Everything I'm saying in notes is something you're welcome to bring into the game/narrative at any time!

Corey and Wilfred cower backwards. "Er—there's statues over by the College O' Magic! Thataways!" They point to the right, at the shady grove with a semicircle of marble statuary gleaming in the dappled light.

OOC: And here's where we pause... or at least, I do. Gotta go to a meeting! The adventure will continue (and get pretty snazzy) in an hour or two. Thanks, all!

OOC: Per Friar_Tuk's excellent point over here, we're going to switch the format here slightly... I'll wait until all five players have a chance to respond before resolving actions, unless you specifically state you're engaged in an activity that allows the story to go on without you. It'll slow our roll a bit, but my pledge to you as DM is that the game will still be awesome. Or... will become awesome, if it isn't right now. You know, whatever.

OOC again: Fair warning--I'm headed out of town to visit my parents this weekend. I may be able to do one or two posts at most, but you shouldn't expect to see too much of me before Sunday night or Monday. So let's just all take this moment to drink in the golden sunlight of the Hill's courtyard... before the madness descends.

Wait, what? No. Nevermind. No madness. It's a game about a beautiful, sunny day, don't worry about it.

The guards cower before Eldrick, eyes clicking anxiously to the stars-and-keys embroidered on his uniform's shoulder, marking him as not just an officer, but a recognized member of the Fortesqueue family. Their profuse apologies mingle with the general hubbub of the courtyard. Those who are keeping a watchful eye see three darkly-dressed figures detach from the crowd and steal after Tosher, into the gloom and relative privacy of the statuary grove.

OOC: HA!!! First botch!!!!!

You wouldn't think it would be possible to trip over a cat and send it yowling, spin backwards into a ceremonial gong, and then accidentally dislodge the gong, rolling it down a flight of stairs to smash through a stained glass window in an adorable little gazebo. And under normal circumstances, that would be difficult. Yet that's the exact maneuver the cloaked figure enacted as he fell, face-down, at the hooves of the Minotaur, drawn mace clutched in his hand.

His companions stared open-mouthed for a moment, then rushed in. "Get him!!!"

Hahaha, not what I was planning. Gosh I love this game. Let's see what happens. Roll initiative!

EDIT: ...WHAT!?!?

OOC: Don't mind me...

OOC: No problem at ALL about not posting on the weekends! We're still learning our rhythm as a group, no big deal.

As the robed men rush over, they take in the curious crowd in their peripheral vision, and the assortment of capable-looking strangers whose attention they have attracted. Maybe it's the gong still reverberating through the air that makes them think twice, or the clanking of the two guards following Eldrick... but this is not a fight they're so eager to pick after all.

"...to bed! Get him to bed!" one of them yells, for the benefit of the crowd. "Too much drink in that one."

"You know how it is--a few too many free drinks at the House of Masks," smiled his companion, turning with open hands and an apologetic smile. He drops his hood, the red cord at his throat swinging down to hang vertically from his shoulder. As his hood drops, he reveals a halo of golden curls, like an adorable toddler. "Sorry for the disturbance, folks! Happy Riverthanks, good luck and fair dealings!"

Taking his cue from the others, the man gripped by Tosher begins to wobble. "Shay whatnow?" he hiccups. "Toucha statue for luck?" He lets out a terrific belch and slumps sideways.

"Our apologies for the disturbance," says golden curls to Tosher, still loud enough for spectators to hear. "Are you looking for the Central Stone, which grants luck at midnight? Allow us to be your guides, we'd be delighted to show you, to make up for this small commotion."

OOC: By the way, should anyone want to leave the area, you're definitely able to. I'm thinking I might create a separate thread for that, something like "0.1 — At the College of Magic" and keep the "main thread" going here for whoever sticks around in this area. Then, whenever you leave that other setting, you can re-join the main thread if you're finding the others again. That's my working concept, but if anyone has seen it done really well through another method, let me know and we can do that too!

The guards standing beside Eldrick look back at their abandoned post at the main doors of the College of Magic. If they don't hurry back over, any old riffraff from the street could wander in, and then they'd be in hot water with their real commanding officer.

"Ah yes, the Boiling Samovar. I know it well," replies golden curls, "a perfect idea. We'll help him along, but there's for your trouble." He hands an object to Jean, murmuring something too low for the others to hear as it exchanges hands.
His eyes flick towards the door of the College of Magic, where it seems Eldrick, Charles, and Xulara are all converging. Then, in a louder voice he says, "Come on then, good minotaur--let's find you some golden luck on the double-quick!"

The men in robes turn to the path back towards the twin drawbridges, golden-hair in the lead, yellow-teeth in his feigned drunken stupor leaning heavily on their third companion. "This way, my tauriform friend!"

As they turn to go, the guards hustle back to their post at the College of Magic door. "Sorry!" puffs Wilfred, straightening his halberd. "No visitors allowed in the Academy on Riverthanks!"

"No trouble at all good sir. Have a lovely Riverthanks!"

Jean turns and heads to the College entrance. He approaches the front door and tips his jaunty tricorn hat to the guards, "Good day gentlemen, keep up the good work," and attempts to walk right through the door.

OOC: Jean is a regular visitor to the College on business. There's a good chance, if these guards are here on the regular, that they would recognize him. He comes and goes frequently, and at odd hours. As we move into this interaction, let me know what social rolls (if any) are required of me.

"Bup-bup-bup-bup-bup!" protests Wilfred, putting a hand out to stop Jean. "Sorry sir, we'll need h'official proof of business."

Colin nods eagerly, "He's right as usual, he is. Lots o' cut-ups and flogarts tryin' to shammy their way in for a lookabout today."

"Too right, Colin. And we weren't moved from our usual post waaaaaay in the back of the Fortress to guard these gates to let just h'any old Johnny-come-blithely in without just cause or an invitation what merits entry."

They block the entrance importantly.

OOC: Let's do persuasion!

Just some context. More story coming soon!

Here's a rough map of the courtyard garden. Those X's are guards. There are two drawbridges to the north, one letting people onto the Hill, the other for them to leave by. The first drawbridge is much more crowded, but there's some traffic on the second.



Xulara, admiring the buildings, sees that the colleges appear to have been built around the same time with soaring white stone and tiled roofs that gleam an earthen red in the sun. At one time, they were clearly meant to have been symmetric. However, it seems that as the generations have gone by, each has made modifications to appear less like the other. The College of Magic has floating balconies, stained glass that moves with the breeze, a collection of colored lights lazily orbiting its highest tower. The College of Matter flowers with carvings on every surface, painted frescoes, lapping fountains, models of the constellations wrought from the finest silver. Both are crowned by all manner of gargoyles--fantastic creatures above the College of Magic, and artists, scholars, and men-at-arms above the College of Matter.

The Fortress, however, seems aptly named... it hails from an earlier time, and while impressive, is notable mostly for its massive size. It is rough-hewn from gray stone, and seems as solid, unyielding, and forbidding as the word of its monarch, which is absolute law in Heirwater. It is doubly-guarded, and every surface seems to speak the same message--don't dare to defy the rule of the Heir. Its windows are narrow arrow-slits, and everything about it seems to call back to an earlier time, when a barbaric warlord built an unassailable castle on a remote island, in which his young son and heir should be raised.

Corey and Wilfred squint at Jean, at Jean's card (held upside-down), and at each other for a long second. Then Corey slowly nods. "I s'pose... seein' as how you have a card..."

Wilfred hands the card back to him. "Quite so, quite so. Commercial clockwork an' all. Step on through, an' step lively, won't you!"

The guards part. Across the sunny lawn, golden-curls, who has been watching all this with a careful eye, nods to himself and returns his attention to steering Tosher towards the far drawbridge. "Ale it is, my good bull! I know where we can get it by the trough-ful. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

The guards step aside unthinkingly. If they know one thing, it's that you hop lively when an officer of House Fortesqueue wants to get through.

OOC: So right now I have Charles, Eldrick, and Jean headed into the Academy, while Tosher is heading back to the Market Square with golden-curls and his men. I think I'll pause the action here to find out what Xulara's up to, then get jump links going into the other locations!

As the remaining two enter the building and are out of earshot, I hurriedly follow after them and say as I try to sidestep the guards, "Sorry, must have gotten carried away! I hope they're waiting for me inside or this could be embarrassing!"

The guards narrow their eyes at the woman in front of them. "You weren't... with them, though," objects Corey. "Was she?"

"Not a bit of it," says Wilfred. "I don't believe they're waiting for you h'at all!"

As Xulara walks away, the guards begin discussing some minor point of doorguardsmanship, and quickly become engrossed in conversation.

The latticework is a little too flimsy to climb. Xulara clatters back down. Looks like she'll need to find another way into the Academy...

OOC: You're just setting us all up to be extra-awed by a stack of crits later, aren't you.

I'm going to watch It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown with my kids. Be back a little later on with the jump link into the College of Magic and/or Drawbridge!

A small child holding an armful of scrolls stands behind Xulara, head cocked to one side. His forehead is wrinkled in the most profound puzzlement. He's like a puppy that just cannot figure out what he's looking at.

The boy opens his mouth, points to it, and shakes his head. He takes a step forward when--

"WHERE IS THAT USELESS SCROLL-RAT?!?" A bad tempered voice rattles the frame of the window above, the R's rolled in high diction and ire.

The boy shoots upright like a shot, his face instantly drained of color. Without a word, he runs to a side door, away from the main entrance that Xulara had tried to enter. The single guard there, a crusty old veteran, swings his spear wide to let the boy through without blinking.

"RAA-AAATT!!"

A dropped scroll gleams vellum-gold in the grass at Xulara's feet.