Ch. 1, Scene 1: Thin Lines Between Luck and Fate

"Erwin Hearthkeeper."

Whispers break out through the gathered crowd, followed a split second later by an ear-piercing scream as a redheaded woman wearing an apron collapses into the arms of her husband, the man who had been tending bar in the tavern all during the previous evening. Trepidation radiates from theThe mayor continues, addressing the crowd with his speech despite the words being exclusively for the lad next to him: "Every year, it is the honor of one of our citizens to lead a contingent to the Peyxian Crypts, and pay respects to our honored Ageyfi. This year, the duty falls upon you. Erwin Hearthkeeper, son of Kevan and Arvoren, you have three days to venture from this place and perform the Ritual of Repose. Your successful completion of this ritual will allow our ancestors to remain at rest and bring their blessings upon our village." As the man speaks, Erwin's eyes dart through the crowd, making eye contact with several people... including you. "As dictated by tradition," the mayor declares, "you have a budget in the amount of five hundred gold pieces, half of which you may access up front, to hire assistants and procure supplies. The remainder shall be paid to you upon your return, and any money not spent, plus an additional twenty gold, is your commission for your labor." He places a supportive hand on the youngster's shoulder. "Do you intend to hire assistants?"

Erwin clears his throat, wiping a bead of sweat off of his brow before responding. "I do, Mister Mayor. Six assistants at fif.. no, sixty gold pieces each, half paid up front." His eyes look pleadingly in your direction.

"And whom amongst this crowd is willing to join this young man on his journey?"

Heavily calloused hands instinctively fiddle with the horn dangling on a strand around Bruenor’s very thick neck. Our dwarven fellow exudes a resolute Hmph, and strides forth. He doesn’t so much walk, as waddles.

Well now, I’ll be willin’ fer ta help ya, the dwarf says gruffly and loudly. He shoulders a warhammer with his right hand, and a shield complete with glimmering dwarven crest dominates his left hand.

Well, I’m Bruenor Brommenhammer, of Clan Brommenhammer. If ya need meh help, lad, now ya have it!

The day had been a long one; the morning featured hazardous sports, the likes of which had been taxing on her nerves, and the time proceeding those events saw her busy reviving the combatants. Her time was spent productively, however, and the young girl found herself glowing with pride and joy as the tavernkeeper's son was selected for this exodus.

She tempers her expression as she approaches the stage, and joins the boy behind the podium. There, she gently takes his hand in her own. "I am Abigail West," she announces, looking across the crowd. "And I will be accompanying Erwin on this journey."

The one they called Raven, a human of barely adult in years with coal black hair and strange gray eyes sat cross legged on a bench against the wall of the tavern room. The two tavern cats had rarely left his side since he had arrived and they now sat curled up with the stranger, one in his lap and the other leaning against his leg. People gossiped that he had spent more time talking to the cats than the other patrons, although they had seen young Erwin chatting with the strange man often that day. Did this Raven ever blink? most admitted they had turned away from his odd gaze before finding out the answer.

Raven met Erwin's pleading gaze with those unblinking gray eyes, but after a moment his gaze softened with compassion for the poor lads plight. The man did not rise from his seat, but nodded his assent, a soft few words spoken "I agree." Stroking the cat in his lap gently as he spoke.

In the excitement of all the festivities, no one seemed to care that Iskwe had positioned herself cross legged atop one the tables near the back of the inn. With one of the forks gripped like a dagger in a hand as a toothpick, she kept one bright red eye on the podium, and the other out to see if she could spot the little blonde fusspot in the crowd somewhere. All eyes were focused on the dazed looking young lad who belonged to the tavern master with concern obvious on their features, and as they should. The bairn could barely figure out his top from his bottom, or even pour a reasonable pint without causing an indecent amount of suffering, and they were asking him to save the town or something; a task that even sounded troublesome for someone with a modicum of competence. Maybe she was holding on to her grudges for too long over such a simple thing. The High Elf supposed she felt some small amount of sympathy for the wean, but she stubbornly met his pleading gaze with a glare as she slowly raised a glass of mostly foam to her lips. Wiping the residue off of her chin and mouth with the back of her bare arm, she looks away in disinterest as he makes his call for aid among them, attempting to distance herself from the shenaniganry.

When an obviously Dwarven voice is heard among the clamor of the audience, her pointed ears perk up against her will, and she turns once more to face the scene. Not a familiar face, but a welcome one. Far too few of the mountain folk crossed her path over the past few years, and one was always a welcome sight. When Abby speaks up, Iskwe groans and cranes her neck to see if she can discern the little healer in the crowd. If the goody-two shoes cleric was volunteering, it was only a matter of time before she was hunted down and brought on board against her will, which meant she probably would not be getting paid if she was doing it as a favor to the kid instead. Grimacing, she lays back against the table, and rolls backwards off of it, dismounting with grace. Flipping her waist length crimson hair back, she gathers it in her hands behind her head and rips off a piece of the bandage wrapped around her chest to tie a ponytail with the ripped ribbon. Time to earn some coin. One more person elects to join the campaign as she slips through the crowd, arriving at the podium, but chooses to simply point up at the boy from the ground.

"Alright lad, Ah'll help, but it's gonna cost yeh 60 gold coin and a pint, a proper one at that"

A well dressed man, stands and smiles. "It pleases me to see such a young man honor their tradtions. I would be happy to join you in this!"

Jian-Roh had been enjoying the festivities, when the atmosphere seemingly became pregnant with foreboding. The crowd murmured, and the poor lad looked about nervously. The boy Erwin had pestered Jian-Roh to play the lute over and over the night before, and Jian-Roh had a soft spot for children. He had a softer spot for the call of glory.

Five others had stepped forward to accept the call, but the room remained tense. Jian-Roh cleared his throat and put on his most charming smile, winking at Erwin. When he spoke, his voice held a touch of the foreign lands, a hint of his father's elvish heritage, a sprinkle of far-away Esternesse, but to the crowd in the room, he simply sounded like one who sang exotic songs.

"A boy plunging into peril calls for aid, and Jian-Roh will answer. You will have my blade, if it please you, Erwin, son of Kevan and Arvoren."

In a single motion, Jian-Roh unsheathed his blade and twirled it in sync as he bowed with a deft flourish.

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As soon as Erwin names Raven, the unchosen volunteers disperse, a few letting out low grumbles of disappointment or disdain. The boy references the scroll he was given before turning back towards the mayor. "These are my choices, and I accept my role as Arbiter," he declares, loudly enough to be heard by the entire hall (although most seem to have stopped paying attention since the call for volunteers was made). "My champions and I will grant another year's rest to the Ageyfi, and..." He quickly glances at the scroll again. "And secure their blessings in exchange."

"Gods be with you in your journey, Arbiter," the Mayor replies, and the two give one another a slight bow. The mayor then leaves the stage to converse with a few others on the far side of the room.

Ceremony completed, Erwin releases the tension of the moment with a quick sigh, taking a seat on the edge of the platform and dangling his legs over it. "Thanks," he says to the six of you.

Confident that she would have been picked considering her relationship with Abby, Iskwe does not care for the selection, what she does care about, and clicks her tongue over hearing the response to, is that she has to wait until they return for her drink. Grumbling while the ginger continues to address the rest of the group of volunteers, she looks to her side and gives Abby a light kick in the leg to get her attention once the kid has moved on from her.

"Don't be so easy on 'im, it's his quest and he ain't gonna learn anything if yeh're doin' it all fer 'im"

Her eyes follow the rest of the group as Erwin speaks with them individually, taking in the information expositioned and storing it later for use for insults or conversation, whichever comes first. When he sits down and sighs, as though the job was already done instead of just about to get started, Iskwe places her fists on her waist and turns around, look over the rest of them, before raising one hand and pressing her thumb against her head, measuring herself up against the rest, privately celebrating being the tallest of the group. In contrast, she speaks to the one that interests her the most first.

Brrommenhammer, what brings you all the way out here? It's always nice to see another Dwarf

She speaks in Dwarven to him, her tongue feeling a little tired speaking in a language she has not had to use in a few years. Sometimes it was easy to forget her heritage of being an elf.

Abigail starts at the rough contact, widened eyes landing on the elvish woman. Her lips part, but as much as she'd like to express disapproval for the rough contact, she can't argue against the wisdom. Her impulse Is to assist, but she doesn't want to hinder his growth.

Frowning down at her feet, she grips the flounces of her dress and nods.

It's only after Erwin has concluded his speech does Abigail seek out what will, for a time, be her travelling companions. Dark chocolate eyes slowly pan across the the two elves and the dwarf, lingering on the latter as Iskwe goes to engage him. She can't understand what they're saying, but it appears to be an amicable exchange, so she chooses not to interfere.

Her eyes eventually stop on the only other human. She hadn't caught his name, but she did catch that he's a practitioner of magic, and it was implied he possessed knowledge on the Ritual of Repose. Smiling, she heads over to him, hands gently grasping the flounces of her dress.

"Hello," she says softly, eyes flicking towards his necklace. "I'm Abigail West, a cleric of Schyzem. I look forward to working with you." She offers him a hand in greeting.

This boy and the lute! Jian-Roh chuckled, then smiled. It was endearing, but his eyes briefly strayed to the Mayor. Would he be impressed if Jian-Roh played a tune? No, likely not, and what did it matter anyway? A small town mayor’s admiration was nothing to covet.

"So, tell me more about this adventure we’re to embark on," Jian-Roh said, ruffling Erwin’s hair as he plopped down next to the boy.

"Why do they send out a boy if it’s so dangerous? For that matter, why even go yearly if it’s so dangerous?" He looked sideways at the boy, and arched a brow. "Fear not, young master, any monster stand in our way, I shall cut you a bloody path and deliver you to the promised land, but come, tell me more about this pilgrimage."

As the crowd disperses and the other chosen start to mingle, Raven simply stands where he had been ushered earlier. Once toward the back of the group of applicants, as the crowd thins he ends up a few feet away from the others as they collect around young Erwin. One of the tavern cats nudges against his leg and the human glances down at the feline. Squatting low to the floor, Raven scratches the cat behind the ear, making a quiet purring and mewing sounds back to the feline before some whispered common "That is the last scratch, this is important, go along." The cat gives a last meow and slips away to attend to other feline matters.

The druid stands and watches the others mingle, his gray eyes moving from each member of the team, watching them but not joining in with any of the discussions. Most of his attention is on Erwin, the boy leader of this group and what information he would provide.

When the elven woman Iskwe speaks in our dwarven fellow’s native tongue, Bru is a bit taken aback. Which is unusual, to be sure. Dwarves aren’t used to being surprised!

Well now, DIS is a surprise, fer sure! Ya be speaking ta meh in de dwarven tongue, eh?! Well then, we’re well met!

I come ‘ere, fer…well, fer family matters, ya might say. I come seekin’ coin n’ fortune. Wait, dose r’ de same thing…eh. Any ol’ way, meh clan celebrates many years toilin’ at de forge, ‘neath de mountain. N’ I seek ta one day ‘ave a forge o’ meh own. But it takes a lotta coin, n’ I’m jus’ a poor ol’ dwarf!
So I come seekin’ fame n’ fortune, n’ ta bring meh forgin’ skills to de world!

What ‘bout you, lass? What ya be callin’ yerself, again?! I don’ think I caught er yer name, if’n ya gave it!

Aleister takes Abigail’s hand and returns a smile "My name is Aleister Blackwood and the pleasure is mine. Are you familiar with these crypts?"

Abigail beams at the man, returning her hand to her flounces, and swaying. "I do!" She says, but before she elaborates, her attention shifts towards the volunteer mentioned earlier. The third of their human members. "Sir, would you like the join the conversation?"

Jian-Roh smiled at the boy's assertion that he was not a boy, but he apologized by way of nodding at the correction. The perilous undertaking made more sense now, and though he still had more questions, he left them unsaid. Instead, he clapped Erwin's shoulder. "Rest easy, this looks like a capable lot, you've chosen well."

The others were speaking in groups, but there was plenty of time for introductions and chit-chats later. The palpable dread that had filled the room had dispersed, but people could always use good cheer, and Jian-Roh was nothing if not someone who sought to gain the admiration of others. He walked over to Erwin's mother and bowed to her.

"My good lady, I was hoping to play a tune to lighten the mood of the crowd. Would you honor me and play together? I'm unfamiliar with the crowd, and as this is your territory, I'd be delighted if you'd allow me to be the beneficiary of your lead."

The human with jet black hair and odd ash gray eyes listened closely to Erwin as the boy answered the questions. Raven was familiar with animal and nature spirits, but less so with human ones. Humans willingly having their souls bound to this world in order to benefit their decedents was interesting, perhaps troubling.

Raven noticed the girl who had introduced herself as Abigail invite him to join in their discussion. The gray eyes considered her and Aleister for a long, almost uncomfortable moment of silence before stepping over to join the pair. He nodded in greeting to each of them, "I am called Raven. I believe you were about to say something about the crypts?"

Raven leans slightly on his dark wood staff while looking at Abigail.

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Raven is a young man who appears to be in his late teens with shoulder length jet black hair, ash gray eyes, and no facial hair (he does not appear to grow it at all). His skin is uniformly a deep tan color, not tanned from the sun but naturally of darker shade than his village. The youth stands around 5 1/2 feet tall and appears very thin, underfed and a bit scrawny. Although he looks young, looking into his eyes many people get the feeling he is much older. Some people describe the feeling by saying that he has an old soul.

Raven's attire is simple woodsman leathers, worn but functional, with a green cloak and hood. His only weapons appear to be dark wood staff and a plain dagger at his belt.