Gameplay - The Dragon Who Asked Too Much

After he eats, Garth will see if there is an open seat at a game, preferably with soldiers. He is not too concerned with the winning and losing, he wants to pick up info on what they might face on the next leg of their journey.

Mavis is lead into the upstairs where a bath is brought to temperature with hot rocks. A small tray of fragrant soaps and oils is placed beside, along with a stack of thick towels.

As Mavis heads off for a bath, you're brought a platter of fish for the table, mostly roasted with some sauces to accompany. She also leaves you a pitcher of mead and a bowl of grainy, nutty buns and another bowl of mixed roasted vegetables.

Garth finds a table between gsmes and is immediately welcomed in and handed a box of figures to arrange. He finds the conversation easy, starting with the usual last campaign question. Of course, no one asks which side you fought on, to avoid fights.

Sides only matter to the generals, am I right?

As the chamberperson leaves, Mavis nods towards the soap, oils and towels.
Am I allowed to use those? She asks nervously
After giving a confused nod, the chamberperson leaves.

Mavis stands back to consider the bath.
Last year her Sandra had suggested that they go 'up top' to visit a spa. There was the inevitable spa/spar homophonic confusion that was bound to happen when the skywalkers name something after crystalline rocks. After that was resolved, Mavis had ruled that spas sounded like something for humans and elves, and (to Sandra's disappointment) the matter was closed. Fancy baths aren't for dwarves - Mavis had home-rank, and Mavis had ruled it.

Mavis steps forward and sniffs the soap. It smells like sweet flowers and fruits, not ash and fat. Curious, Mavis runs her finger over the soap. Soft, like talc-schist, not gritty, no granite dust.

Is this the adventuring life?
Taking advantage of such luxury feels like betraying Sandra. Chewing her bottom lip in inner turmoil, but shucking her clothes anyway, Mavis resolves to take Sandra to a spa if she gets back alive.

Settling into the hot bath, Mavis adds small amounts of each of the oils. Sniffing the soaps in turn, she picks one. If Mavis had more experience of the skyworld she'd have recognised the smell of bergamot, but to Mavis it just smells like how she imagines elven nobles would smell.
Mavis slides down, guiltily, to spend an hour in the hot bath.Towelling herself off Mavis feels cleaner than she's ever felt before, but the nagging sense of betrayal leaves her conscience feeling a little dirty too.

Dressed, leaving the warhammer and backpack in the room, Mavis descends the stairs to meet the party, try the seafood and talk to the locals.

You all enjoy your meals, prepared simply but the freshness of the catch is startling, and seasoned just right to bring out the natural flavour.

Garth settles into the game and quickly is laughing with the soldiers as stories are told, usually of dalliances while on furlough, and a fondness for jokes about clever people being humiliated.

Mavis finds out that the town is indeed a homophone of Morning and Mourning, and means both to them. The great fireplace diorama in the inn is a testament to the sadness of the dawn, but more so of a legend. It seems that long ago, all of the children went missing and were never found alive. Their bodies were found high in a hill, apparently having committed suicide by drinking sleeping draughts to excess, for abuses at the hands of one of the town elders. The elder was tried and executed for his crimes, but even though all those involved are long dead, the town has never recovered from the sense of loss and their own blindness to what had been occurring. The anniversary of that grim discovery is celebrated as a time of quiet reflection.

As to Great Delta, this is a small city that squats on an old dried up river delta. While no river flows, save for flash floods, the delta proper is wide and the city squats on former islands. The bridges have gone to neglect as people can almost always just walk on the dry river bottom year round.

Hehsh is shocked by the disturbing tale. Who would have thought that these villages knew such troubles. He remembers the druids who raised him and always thought it strange that they lived apart from their kin. Perhaps there was wisdom in that decision. He thinks of it no more past sleep. Nothing puts Hehsh's mind at ease like a good meal and a warm bed.

After gambling for a while, Garth will buy a round for the soldiers and head to bed fairly early. Best to have a clear head when going in to the unknown.

When Mavis had arrived here her every instinct had shouted "Let's get ready to grumble!". After all, it was every dwarf's natural right, nay duty!, to complain that the beer was too weak, the food was too fancy, and the skysiders were 'nowt but soft topside nancies' - but the scented bath and the town's dark tale had rather taken the fire from her forge.

She quietly and slowly drinks at a table, bidding a good night to the retiring Garth and Hehsh. She considers the town - rich in luxurious baths and fine food, but with such tragedy at its core. It testified that these stoic humans had a natural nobility she hadn't imagined.

Contemplation over, finishing her drink, her prejudices somewhat chastened, Mavis bids good night to the barkeep and patrons. She too heads to bed.

Hasan enjoys his meal. Feasting mostly on the breads while picking at the fish. "Such delicious food, I thank you for the meal." Hasan mentions to the barmaiden.

Hasan takes his leave to get some rest for the night attempting to recover from his riding escapades.

Ruby quite enjoys what the evening brings her. She eats, drinks, and relaxes as the lovely atmosphere overtakes her. She is a bit disappointed tales of their heroics aren't being spread far and wide, but she decides it isn't actually all that important. After all she still gets to enjoy herself without feeling like some celebrity.

Ruby doesn't hear anything about individual halflings per se, but she does hear a few old fogies talking about some sort of desert skirmish. Apparently an army of ogres and giant kin were driven off by a warband of pixies (and a few minor assistants, baggage carriers, really). Detsils are sparse at the moment, and they're questioning what mad folk would even try and pass off such stories as news.

Before going to bed, Hehsh hears Ruby asking about rumors of halflings. He chuckles at the baggage carriers comment, and then uses minor illusion to make them think there drinks are empty, hopefully leading to them getting cut off by a waitress who does not want to over serve. "Don't worry "Eater of Souls." I'm sure your legend will grow in time."

"I was thinking of contributing to their stories myself. Ogre's are comparable to hobgoblin's right?" Already Ruby is imagining the battle where she jumped off of pixies and fell from 100 feet high to deliver a crushing blow to an ogre's eye, slaying it in one hit.

"Sure. They're basically cousins. Fully interchangeable from a narrative perspective."

"Perfect." With confidence in every step Ruby makes her way to these fine gentlemen, regaling them with tales of the battle she (yes she!) was part of. Of the enormous army she and her companions had to face down, the devastating blow after blow of pernicious power inflicted unto them, and their sure defeat. Just as they were on the brink of destruction, they had gained "the dragon's blessing" smiting their foes with overwhelming force while their fallen troops had risen up to join the fray once more, it was truly a glorious day.

The fogies enjoy Ruby's storytelling, thoroughly engaging in her presentation of the events. She gets that they enjoy the craft of storytelling more than the newsy bits, but they will pass it on faithfully, at least as best as they recall.

When the talking is well and done Ruby decides to retire for the night, another busy day tomorrow and all that.

After meals and baths and games, or baths and meals and games, or games and meals and baths, or however you arrange it, you each retire for the night.

That night, dreams come. You don't remember them, only that you awake, freezing. Your rooms are ice cold, despite the coals glowing in the fireplaces. Your breath fogs and you feel it, a dark presence, there behind you! No. Outside? You look, your eyes drawn to the east.

Somewhere a woman screams, heartbreaking sorrow. And the echo of laughter in the night sky. A flicker of light on some hillside. Impossibly far away, it is just a tiny blur, but you know. How could you not? Albionii, the unicorn. It beckons.

Do you refuse?

You wake. This time for real, you hope. But damn, it is cold in your room.

When the group is gathered for breakfast, Garth notices that he is not the only one who looks a little troubled.

Did any of you dream about the unicorn?