Chapter 2: Do-si-do with Dame Fortune

Your ground group arrives at the coach company and after a few quick minutes of conversation, you manage to secure a private coach to take you the distance back to Willowfall. Money is exchanged and a few minutes later a sleek green and gold carriage pulls up outside the building, with a foursome of black horses strapped to the harnesses in front. Introductions made, those of you climbing into the carriage get settled and you make your way out of the city gates, headed south.

Money is collected and the group sets out. You roll over the terrain, a much more comfortable trip than the long march up last time. The weather warms slightly as you move further south, the air currents reasonably pleasant for the avian pair. There is plenty of opportunity for idle talk with the driving crew when they are off shift. For the first two days, the weather holds pretty steadily clear. However, the third day welcomes steely gray clouds that blot out the sun and bring a steady driving snowfall. Eventually the road gets to the point of being impassable, and your crew manages to make it to a nearby village before Hector, the lead coachman, declares the day a bust.

Would you all like to do anything in the town, or just sleep and move on in the morning?

There is definitely a tavern, and it's a little rowdier than you'd expect, given that you identify it as the tavern when a human man is thrown out of a window with a crash.

Baraq is able to easily chuck the scrawny man back through the window into the raucous tavern beyond. Judging by the size of the village and the press of bodies inside, it would seem that nearly the entire adult population of the town is currently enjoying what you can now see is the Leaky Cask tavern. The sign features a large wooden cask with a leak, pouring drink into the face of a drunkard below.

Inside the tavern smoke hangs thick in the air, conversations and fights and boasts are cacophonous, and everything is slightly sticky from the vast quantities of spilled ale.

Catriona, you do see a tallish looking inn down the way. Where most of the other buildings here seem to be only a single story tall, this one stands a full three high. A striped awning stretches out from the front of the building.

The bartender certainly quirks an eye at your appearance, but doesn't seem overly fazed by it. Your glance around the room answers why. You haven't seen a melange of races like this in some time. Skin of every color, horns of every configuration, and languages spanning from the heavens to the hells dribble from well-wetted lips.

The local brew turns out to be an especially strange mixture, a spicy mix of fortified wine with tomato juice and a sprig of herbs. It tastes spicy with an underlying earthiness that reminds you of a field after a heavy rain. It certainly burns going down, but lingers on the back of your tongue like a cold breeze over wet feathers.

The people scrapping seem to be mixed, some good-natured while others seem to be in anger. There are a few card games, and more than one pair of dice on the scarred wooden tables.

You have no issue with Chuck-chuck, as he tucks himself away nicely and promptly falls asleep. You do spot a handful of half-orcs, most dressed in black leathers, sitting at a table along the back wall.

The night progresses about as you'd expect, drink and food going everywhere. The coachmen seem to be fine with the environment, going so far as to greet the barkeep warmly when they enter.

If you'd like, you can brawl, bet, or just eat and drink. If everyone is good, you can pick up and try leaving tomorrow.