Greetings, all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm setting up a roleplay of my own. It will not be based on Runescape, as will be explained later. Much of the story will be dictated by your characters' actions, though not necessarily controlled by you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There will be several differences to the already-running thread in here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First, there will be a limit of four characters in the roleplay. Feel free to PM me your concepts and I'll approve or reject them on a basis of originality. When describing your character's merits in social or combat situations, please avoid creating a "perfect" character. Any single character cannot be the deus ex machina in every situation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Secondly, the players post their character's actions and no-one else's. Problems tend to arise when things happen to others' characters without their express consent. For instances where one character is temporarily divided from the group, I will run that specific sequence through PMs. I myself will not play as a character, rather as a sort of game master to show the world around the characters. Combat, if it ever occurs, is to be done on a turn-based, post-by-post sequence, with characters making their actions and myself running the actions of NPCs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thirdly, the issue of player knowledge versus character knowledge is to be paid special attention. If a character describes an action which takes place in a different room, for example, none of the other characters should know what is happening, unless alerted by an effect of interaction with the environment, such as shattering glass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lastly, please make a conscious effort to maintain a standard of spelling and grammar in both your character concept and subsequent posts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orsia [map]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orsia is a large, temperate island continent. To the east lies the great Sea of Illusions, the Great Dividing Sea stretches to the north, and to the south is the Grey Sea. To the west, the Starsea divides Orsia from the lands of Thoris, and beyond that lies the Uncaring Ocean.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orsia itself is divided into five main territories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dwarven kingdom with its capital at Belgim occupies much of the mountainous north of the continent, with other major cities at Glandest in the Forgotten Hills and Marvbek at the headwaters of the Ilacondis river. The dwarves serve a partriarchal monarchy, with the benevolent King Urfin on the Belgim throne. Dwarven clans are close-knit societies of their own, and individual families within these clans coexist peacefully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

During wartime, the dwarves show their lawful, disciplined nature, organizing themselves into warbands by family and armies by clan, all under the command of the royal army itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dwarves keep active trade routes between their mountains, the Coastal Alliance to the south and west and the Darchon Confederacy to the south-east. They gladly trade valuable metals, gems and machinery for the Alliance's pearls and maritime produce, as well as for the abundant grains, vegetables and manufactured weapons of the Confederacy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Coastal Alliance holds the lands between the two cities of Mutineer's Point and Seeker's Cove, the former to the west of the Misty Peaks of the dwarven kingdom, and the latter to the south, with only the foothills stretching from the mountains to the coast at Hidden Bay separating the two. Both cities are ruled by their own democratically-elected governments, and enjoy a prosperous relationship with the dwarven kingdom and the Confederacy. Mutineer's point is also the most easily-accessed port for traders from Thoris.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There have been no major conflicts in the Coastal Alliance for a century, the last war having been with the independent city of Janimor far to the south-east, which ultimately resulted in Janimor's destruction at the hands of a coalition of Alliance, Confederacy and dwarven forces. The Alliance nevertheless fields a fair standing army of heavy infantry as well as local peasant militias. Both cities in the Alliance also maintain strong naval forces, with Seeker's Cove holding the stronger of the two.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Alliance trades mainly in fish, coral and pearls with the dwarven kingdom and the independent city of Oathbridge to the east. In past times, there was also active trade with Janimor, though that is now unfeasible considering the destroyed nature of the city. The dwarven kingdom trades its metals to both cities in the alliance, while Oathbridge provides grain and other produce to augment Seeker's Cove's relatively small land production. In recent years, Oathbridge has also taken up the old Janimor trade of bladewood from the Razorwood, highly prized in the Alliance for its durability and strength. Almost all ships in the Alliance fleet are constructed from bladewood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Darchon Confederacy lies on the east of the continent, with the dukes of the three cities surrounding Blood Bay in the service of the Grand Duke at Port Darchon, situated on the peninsula of cliffs above the narrow mouth of the bay. The three cities of Black Cove, Karzon's Hold and Nijen were allied with Port Darchon in a long-forgotten war, and the alliance has held.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All four cities in the Confederacy maintain navies smaller than that of the Coastal Alliance's, though their standing armies of heavy infantry and archers easily outmatches the Alliance's. Karzon's Hold and Black Cove also field strong cavalry divisions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Confederacy trades its manufactured weapons for metal and machinery from the dwarven kingdom, and this trade is most evident in the grand cliffside coastal defences of Port Darchon, with dwarven cannons being brought to bear against corsairs. Port Darchon also uses dwarven lifting machinery to transport citizens between the city proper and the many underground and cliffside levels necessary to facilitate the city's growth. The Confederacy also trades these weapons with Oathbridge to the west and Korivan to the south.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oathbridge is the neutral ground of the three surrounding nations. It maintains this position through its enforced amnesty and its control of the only safe bridge for several hundred miles along the Ilacondis river. The city also protects its five satellite villages of Low Hold, Innshold, Angler's End, Miller's Hold and Armsburg, which in turn provide the city with farming produce. In the past, Low Hold also provided for the city with its iron and copper mines, though the latter have now been depleted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The army of Oathbridge is comprised mainly of cavalry and a large contingent of pikemen. The army is also augmented by a large number of mercenaries using the city as a base of operations. It has not seen action beyond repelling bandits in the surrounding areas, though the city's cavalry regiments were instrumental in the defeat of Janimor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oathbridge serves as the trading centre for all three surrounding nations as well as the independent city of Korivan. It makes good use of this constant influx of commerce to increase its wealth, and augments it with its steady surplus of wheat and other produce. Iron is also traded with Korivan for luxurious hides and bladereed, a variation of bladewood which grows as sixteen-foot-tall reeds in the Pool of Blades, the lake to the west of Korivan. These reeds are easier to work into weaponry than bladewood, and are prized by Oathbridge for its application in its army.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Korivan is an independent frontier city acting as the final buffer between the civilized northern lands and the Urvandt tribes to the south, being only fifty miles north of the Barrier Hills.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this position, it fields a strong army of heavy infantry and archers, emphasizing defensive tactics to withstand the occasional Urvandt blood raid, where hordes of the barbarians pour forth from their plains, over the hills and north to kill and plunder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Korivan trades mainly in bladereed and exotic animal furs, though its relative isolation keeps such trade to a minimum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Story

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The story is what the characters make of it; I only serve to provide feedback relating to the consequences of the characters' actions. That said, the story itself begins in the village of Innshold, seven miles out of Oathbridge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please submit your characters to me via PM, and any questions directly relating to the roleplay should be PMed as well, in the interests of keeping this thread solely for the story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good luck to those wishing to participate, and to those who are accepted, have fun!

I would join this, but theirs no template for character creation, nor is their any way for me to interact with anything since you havent really provided a setting...Or for tht matter, and sort of conflict?

Name: Braden Sheldon.

 

 

 

Age: 36

 

 

 

Race: Dwarven.

 

 

 

Height: 4' 2".

 

 

 

Arsenal: An axe that he calls, 'Dulaithsil', a buckler shield, a leather cap and a tinderbox.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Place of origin: A small military outpost in a secluded area of the Forgotten Hills.

 

 

 

Personality: A rough dwarf that talks in slang and shortens his words. Although short in size, he makes up for it in his boisterous attitude and courage in the face of danger. He's not the strongest of dwarves but is a skilled warrior with many traits that make him a good soldier. He is strong-willed and can carry on fighting until he doesn't have the strength to stay concious.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Appearance: Braden has long brown hair that flows down over his dark green shirt. He wears a belt that glimmers with gold and encrusted gem stones (mined from the great Halls of Belgim). His beard is long enough for him to tuck into his trousers (which are dark brown with a few tears here and there). He has a slightly crooked nose and a solemn face, with many scars. His eyes always seem like he is carrying a great burden. His posture is that of a trained soldier, always ready for duty and always alert.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

History: Born and raised in the Forgotten Hills. When he was old enough to wield a weapon, he was sent to the military outpoust there. He is often sent out on dangerous missions, sometimes leaving with many men and returning with none. He has many scars from the battles that he has fought in. He was once grievously injured in the Battle of Blood Bay, so called because of the blood that was shed on that day, when a stray arrow lodged itself in his abdomen. Luckily, he managed to pull through and has a painful wound that constantly reminds him of that fateful day. He has no idea where his parents reside and his only friend was slain in the battle. Now, he only seeks more violence, hoping that he will soon be killed and join those that had died for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The adventure begins

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden slowly trudged down the muddy path, heading for the barracks. He passed a few men who just nodded at him and grumbled indistinguishable words. He bowed his head and carried on walking. As the barracks came into view, he felt a sudden impact inside him. He'd never felt this before... Was it... Fear?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As he drew up to the doorway, three young messengers bustled out and ran off in the other direction. Braden slowly entered the barrack. The dwarves around him were silent. Braden slowly dragged himself over to Grathsen, the dwarf captain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Sir, ye' wanted 'ter see me?" Braden enquired.

 

 

 

"Yes, Braden, we need you to go on another mission. It won't be as dangerous as the last, you're just transporting some equipment down to Korivan." Came Grathsen's reply.

 

 

 

"An' what's th' catch, 'eh?"

 

 

 

"Well, you see, we've had many reports of there being orcs patrolling the roads. We would send a platoon to take them out but we have no idea how many are in the area."

 

 

 

"So 'yer gonna' send me 'ter get killed so 'yeh can find out, 'eh?"

 

 

 

"Ah-ha, Braden, don't think of it like that, we just need you to get this equipment to Korivan, the war effort depends on it."

 

 

 

"Aye, and I trust yeh'll be givin' me some o' them soldiers?"

 

 

 

"Naturally."

 

 

 

" 'ow many?"

 

 

 

"I don't know, one or two."

 

 

 

"One or two? Yeh're lucky I'm insane! When deh' we leave?"

 

 

 

"As soon as you're ready, good luck!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden exited the barracks and heard the dwarves muttering amongst themselves. He knew they were wondering who would be going with him, he just hoped he wouldn't get a useless bunch of rambling idiots like last time. He started to walk towards the outpost gate, his feet sinking into the mud and the sun glinting on his axe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Ahhh, Dulaithsil," he said aloud, "won' be long now an' we'll be fightin' again, don't yeh' worry."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He reached the gate. There was a cart waiting for him to hop aboard and depart for Korivan. He decided, he was going to leave alone, he didn't need the worthless dwarves that the captain would send. He leapt onto the cart and sat down. Just as it started to gain speed; frantic shouts were heard behind him. He looked back and saw two dwarves slipping in the mud as they tried to run to Braden. They finally managed to catch up and climb aboard the back of the cart. They were finally heading towards Korivan...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The door of the inn swung open and a draught rushed through the building. Two dwarves stepped inside, one seemed to be shaking profusively, while the other stood tall. They ambled towards the bar and sat down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"'lo matey, I'll 'ave a good ol' Wet Dragon Ale," Braden announced, "Darn orcs, infested all th' roads coming from th' hills! Jus' 'ad a bit o' trouble with 'em on th' way down. Aye, tha' poor sod los' a matey of 'is, didn't ye'? Aye, we was comin' down an' all of a sudden I hears 'im shout, "ORCS!" Then I 'ears this thunk as an arrow 'its 'im. I jumped out an' dealt with 'em. He's bin' shakin' like a leaf all th' way though."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden's ale arrived and he took a gulp of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"'an this weather is a bit bad, eh?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden drained the last of his ale and placed the glass on the bar.

The Weary Traveller inn is the establishment that gives the village of Innshold its name, and is a cosy three-storey building in the centre of the small settlement.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The common room is quiet tonight, and the mild autumn rain sprinkles the ground outside and leaves freckles of water on the windows. A cheery fire burns in the fireplace, keeping out the cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The proprietor, Tortric Brontley, stands behind the bar, cleaning mugs as his two daughters mill about the room, cleaning tables and taking orders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A youthful bard sits near the fireplace, strumming at his lute and reciting an old ballad of a traveller following the Ilacondis river from Marvbek to Karzon's Hold. Several of the patrons have their attentions focused on him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of the bar is a human, a tracker or mercenary archer by the look of his attire and equipment. Along the rest of the bar are two seated dwarves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"'Tis fine now, but I'd say that it'll be a hard winter," says Tortric as he places clean mugs back on the shelves. "Long, too. Care for more ale, master dwarf?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Out of character: From here on out, participants should only write up their own characters' actions and dialogue. I'll handle NPCs.]

Jerod took another swig from the tankard sitting infront of him. He was working on his 3rd drink tonight, and he didn't get drunk easily. The archer was simply trying to forget his last assignment, which had ended in disaster.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finishing his drink, Jerod eyed the two dwarves. One was talking to the barkeep, and the other just sat there shaking. From what he could tell, the second dwarf had lost a friend recently. The first seemed to be unnaffected by anything thrown at him. Both looked like they were from a military. No longer interested, Jerod placed the gold for his drinks on the bar and went up to his room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Setting his gear on the floor, the archer lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep. His dreams took him back to his last mission, and his sleep was uneasy.

The common room is suddenly beset upon by another draught of chilly air, and the fire flickers for a moment before the door snaps shut again. A pair of hooded men stand by the door, before approaching the bar purposefully with a haughty air about them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bard pauses his playing for a moment to turn and glare at the newcomers, then resumes entertaining the inn's patrons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of the newcomers shoves Braden aside and coolly asks the innkeeper, "There is an archer here by the name of Jerod. Take us to his room."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tortric hesitates for a moment, his right hand drifting down underneath the bar, and says, "Could I ask for the visitors' names?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By now, the hooded man's companion has taken a position by the stairs, and the bard is slowing the tempo of his song down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hooded man at the bar grabs Tortric by the front of his tunic, and hisses, "Tell us or die."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden's dwarven companion's hand stealthily approaches his dagger, and the hooded man at the stairs tenses a little.

Raven:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was walking in the Misty Peaks. I had to find some weard crystal for some dark robed person who seeked it. He promised me a lot of money, so I accepted. "Damn it's cold here"I thought in myself. I climbed up a mountain. When I was at the top, I gazed to the north. 'So that must be the Forgotten peaks'I whispered. Many warriors have died there, great. And of course I had to find a crystal in the depts. I slided down the mountain and ran towards the north.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After 2 hours of running. I walked at the edge of a mountain, I peeked into a large cave, that must probably lead to the heart of the mountain. I unsheathend my sword and walked slowly into the cave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well I hope the grammar is allright.....

"Eh! Watch where ye'r goin'!" Braden mumbled as the man pushed him aside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then he realized that the man had grabbed the barman, Braden stepped forward and pushed him off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"We'll 'ave less o' that, eh lads? Don' wan' any blood o' spilling."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden's hand came to rest on on his axe, he un-buttoned the sheath and stared at the man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Now, get yerself' a pint o' the good stuff and take a seat, I'm sure we can work this whole thing out."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He gestured towards the beer kegs as he said this and sat back down on his stool.

The man at the bar signals to his companion, and mere seconds later, a crossbow bolt whizzes past Braden's head. Glass shatters as it hits the shelf behind the bar, and Tortric ducks underneath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The music stops as the bard sets down his lute and unsheathes a shortsword, keeping himself between the combatants and his audience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The man at the stairs calmly reloads his crossbow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The man at the bar draws his dagger and lunges for Braden!

Braden jumped aside, but caught his foot on the stool, he stumbled and then fell to his knees. He whipped his axe out just in time to block the blow that the man had thrown.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He stood up and circled the man, holding his axe up, waiting for the perfect time to strike. A crossbow bolt struck his leg and he fell onto it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Argh, I 'ate that leg, always in th' way..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He brought his axe up to meet the combatant's next blow and rolled out of the way of another crossbow bolt and it struck the door frame. He stumbled away from the man with the dagger and stood next to the bard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Bit o' help would be lovely right abou' now!"

The hooded man with the dagger cautiously approaches Braden as the bard plants his feet and readies himself. Braden's dwarven companion draws his dagger and begins to approach the man from behind, and many of the patrons scatter to the walls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blood suddenly splashes the ground as a crossbow bolt strikes the dwarf, punching a hole in his side and dropping him in a red pool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tortric emerges from behind the bar, a heavy crossbow in hand with a bolt loaded in its steel frame. He calmly aims at the hooded crossbowman and fires, lifting the man off his feet and hurling him to a wall with half his head shattered by the bolt, bits of bone, gore and gray matter covering the wall and floor. Tortric produces a winch from beneath the bar and begins to reload his crossbow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bard silently gestures to Braden to take a flanking position.

"'e was a tidy bloke, I think it's time we got ridda' this idiot."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden dragged himself around the side of the approaching enemy. He held his axe high and brought it down hard, the man jumped aside with ease and plunged the dagger into his arm. Braden yelped with pain and dropped the axe. He sprang backwards as a crossbow bolt whizzed over his shoulder and narrowly missed the man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then he charged into the man and bowled him over, he snatched his axe up and swung it around at the man.

The axe tears into the man, cutting the left arm off at the elbow and burying itself in the man's side. Blood pours in generous amounts from the maimed arm, and the severed forearm lies on the ground twitching slightly. The man's eyes go blank as Braden follows through and hurls him five feet away. The man's intestines can be clearly seen in the gaping hole created by the axe blade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bard sheathes his weapon, heads to his stool and audibly wonders, "Who were those two, and why would they be after that man?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tortric sets his two-and-a-half-foot-long crossbow on the bar and says, "Right then, who's going to help clean up? You," he points to Braden, "head upstairs and check on that Jerod fellow. He might want to know about these two being after him."

Braden hurried towards the stairs, he began to climb them. This task would have been alot easier, if he wasn't injured. He kicked aside, what was left of, the crossbowman's head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He reached the top of the stairs and hobbled down the corridor, he opened every door as he went, peering inside each to check for the man that he presumed to be called 'Jerod'.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He looked inside the last door, on the right, and noticed the man's archery gear. He stepped inside and whispered, "Mr Jerod?" His voice grew steadily louder as he spoke, "Mr Jerod! There were two men downstairs for ye'. They attacked us and we killed 'em, 'ope they weren' friends of yers'. Mr Jerod? MR JEROD!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He then moved towards the man in the bed and poked him in the ribs.

Jerod calmly stepped out of the shadows from the other side of the bed. He had quickly stuff pillows under the covers and hidden there when he heard the rather powerful crossbow shot downstairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"No need to make such a ruckus, Master Dwarf. I can hear well enough." The archer said with slight annoyance. Walking around the bed, he grabbed his gear and strolled out of the room while muttering curses to himself. Coming down the stairs, he kicked the body of the crossbowman out of the way uncaringly. Before leaving the Inn to take his chances in the wild, he studied the other assailant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jerod reached into the deceased man's cloak and pulled out a purple pouch of gold, then tossed it towards Tortric. "Consider that payment for the trouble these mercenaries caused."

Braden quickly followed him. He reached the stairs and began the tedious climb downwards, his leg gave way half way down and he tumbled to the bottom. He picked himself up and brushed dust from his shirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Master Jerod, are ye' headin' fer' Korivan? If ye' are, then I'll come with and assist ye' in any way I can. These mercenaries seem like they wan' ye' dead. Besides, I be needin' to get there anyway an' could do with some help meself." Braden uttered, rather quickly, the words flew out of his mouth and all sounded a bit confusing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Braden stepped forward and tried to look tall and proud. He gave an awkward smile to Jerod, then noticed the scorn that Jerod was giving him. His face fell and he stared back, awaiting an answer...

"I don't work well in teams." Jerod replied, slightly agitated. "I don't know where I'm going, I just know it's away from here."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting down at the bar, Jerod laid a few coins on the counter and pushed them towards Tortric, saying, "Before I leave, I want a glass of your strongest ale, and a bite to eat."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[OOC]

Having overheard what was said, the bard walks over to the bar, taking a seat near the end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I heard that you plan on going to Korivan, master dwarf," he says. "I would like to accompany you, if I may, to find some inspiration for a ballad I plan on writing. It would be wonderful as well if master Jerod accompanies us, as it'll be a grand tale indeed."

"Aye, ye' can come along. Bu' I don't think tha' Jerod bloke wants to, ye' can try speaking to him but he won' listen to me." Braden said, softly, so that Jerod didn't overhear him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He arose from his stool and prodded the bard in the side then nodded at Jerod. Then he sat at the other end of the bar and ordered another ale, while the bard spoke in a hushed voice with Jerod.

"'Twill be a grand adventure, sir," says the bard to Jerod. "The Urvandt blood raids begin in the spring, and I have heard that there are plenty of openings for mercenary work in that time. We could make it to Korivan by winter if we set out soon, and the first snows will have fallen by then."

nvm

Shifting his gaze to the bard, the mercenary responds with a slightly agitated tone, "Well if you want to hire me you'd best discuss a deal now, before my meal is ready. I'm very skilled with a bow, likely the best here, and my services are not cheap."

The bard glances around for a moment, before leaning in close to Jerod, shifting his lute over his shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I've a thought that a ballad about a blood raid will repay itself many times over. You will be paid for any aid in Korivan's defense as a mercenary, but I'm willing to pay you a hundred gold pieces here and now, a hundred more when we arrive, and two hundred if we survive."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He produces a coin purse from one of his pockets and holds it between himself and Jerod.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"This is half a year's wages in the Oathbridge army. Take it or leave it."

"400 pieces eh?" Jerod says as he glances at the bag. "That's more than enough. Consider me in your services. Might I know my employer's name?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The mercenary glances towards the kitchen, wondering where his drink is.

"Ah, yes," the bard says, sitting up straight, "we haven't been properly introduced yet. I am Ardan Kell, musician and jack-of-all-trades. 'Tis a pleasure to meet you."