Quote from: Daztur;719735OOC: want me to roll up stats and HPs for my hirelings? 3d6 in order and how my HPs? 1d4?

[Stats probably aren't necessary unless you want to roll them. Yep, 1d4 hits.]

OOC: After info on lectures, silk sales, and job openings in town, I go with Miron to the baths and start my job search. I will try to get apothecary or other herbalist work first, then search for laundry and domestic work later. I will try to find residence in an old pensioners home if possible -- making knits, tea, and smelling of liniments gives us a lot in common. You may handle this as post asides, private messages, or however, so as to not get in the way of the main party quest.

Quote from: One Horse Town;719885[Stats probably aren't necessary unless you want to roll them. Yep, 1d4 hits.]

Rolled up stats for the hirelings. The second one had high Con so I knocked her HPs up one, or does that not apply to hirelings? I do like how my groom is wiser than I am...

Quote from: Daztur;720602Rolled up stats for the hirelings. The second one had high Con so I knocked her HPs up one, or does that not apply to hirelings? I do like how my groom is wiser than I am...

[Fine]

Now that you've collected your gear and decided that Craghold is your preferred destination, you remember Kelvin the Red's words and make your way to the southern gate of the town, where a small trail wends southwards through low, crumbling hills. To your left, these foothills rise to the impressive heights of the Viceroy mountains.

The trail itself is challenging, but thankfully the summer rains have not yet come, so landslides and mulchy ground is not a problem. In fact, as the sun climbs the sky it is quite pleasant and not another soul can be seen on the road.

Might be a nice six or so hours travel...

Yared and his hirelings march through the streets chanting, Yared keeping time by beating his carved staff into the pavement and shaking his sistrum.

OOC: what time of day is it?

Miron is in great spirits and joins in the songs an chants along with Melat, Eyab, and Hirdan as they walk the trail.  The half-elf was happy to be on the road and working toward a goal to better their prospects.  Truth be told, he missed the good life he had in Pratts Landing.

Kazmak disliked the chanting immensely but holds his peace, making for less than congenial company on the road.

Seeing Kazmak's displeasure, Yared launches into another chant that lists all of the pleasures that the undead are unable to partake in and how blessed are the living. The list is rather detailed, especially the parts about the difficulty liches have in consuming beer and the effects of undeath on various useful organs. The humble priest hopes that his truculent companion approves.

OOC: Craghold is only 6 hours away? That's very close. Or perhaps only 6 hours of daylight left to travel...?

Standing at the southern gate Iowain sees his friends off, his clutched needles betraying his anxiety, yet fiercely waving nonetheless in a show of morale. {Mercifully they only see me in silhouette as they head south, I hope. They are so confident, how could I show them my worry?} As Yared's familiar chanting starts up and fades with their increasing distance Iowain indulges himself a parting thought before finding work, {His enthusiasm always made up for his pitch, blessed be. Yet I thank the King for this current respite.}

With a retiring smile he stops waving and returns to face the city in its sunlight.
{And now it is my turn to put myself out into the world,} and walks back into the crowds.

Kaz helps around with the heavy lifting as well and permits himself a chuckle at Yared's raunchier chants when he thinks no one's looking.

As promised, the journey to Craghold takes around 6 hours. You travel through low hills and wend your way around and over streams.

The only traffic on the trail is a pair of old carts drawn by mules that have seen better days and driven by a couple of dour looking men in drab clothes that look about 20 years old.

As the sun reaches its zenith in the sky to your right you spy a small castle, surrounded by a small village in a dell in-front of you. The village is protected by a flimsy hazel fence. Above the village in the surrounding hills you can see several dark holes that doubtless give access to the 'Slurry pits' you were told of.

As you approach the fence, two guards armed with longbows and short-swords wave you through lazily. Your keen eye for such things tells you the cut of their tabards and uniform are from fashions at least ten years old.

As you weave through the low buildings of the village, you spy common folk going about their business and notice prevailing fashions in dress similar to the guards.

A board with a picture of a miner's pick bangs in the wind against the boards of what you presume to be the only inn in the place.

Small and outdated are your first impressions of the Duchy of Craghold.

Although tired and weary from walking nearly half a day, Miron's spirits lift when they enter the village of Craghold.  He fashions a genuine smile to his comrades as they stand before the village inn.

"Well, gentlemen," he says cheerfully, "we have arrived.  Let's see what this quaint place holds in store for us, shall we?"

The half-elf enters the inn with a smile and energetic step.

Yared concurs with Miron and checks with Melat the groom to ensure that his beasts have arrived in good condition.

Kazmak warily eyes the inn and the people around it. Does this town look safe or dangerous? What sort of people come in, go out or hang around the inn?

On entering the inn, the first thing that you notice about The Perky Pick (for that is the name given to you by the inn-keep) that it is anything but. Even though the evening sun is still streaming in, the place is quite full.

However, there is not much merriment. Judging by the clientele - who are mainly dressed in smocks covered in dirty grey-white smudges, the majority of the grim drinkers are miners who should be down the pits.

Talk is low,a buzzing murmur that barely registers on your ears, yet has that annoying mosquito in the dark quality to it.

Folk barely give you a second glance as you enter, caught up in their own thoughts as they are. However, Glarold the innkeeper bustles over to take your orders and introduce his establishment.