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Rhyn and Skribbles are hired to travel with a merchant's caravan into Alexandria. On the way, it becomes time to stop for a night, because even if the travelers wish to keep going, the horses need a rest. A nearby farmhouse is noticed, and the adventurers are sent to look at it, whereupon they see a pair of elderly dwarves sitting on their porch, rocking. A man whittling, the woman knitting.

Clad in a gray-green cloak and carrying a bow strung over a shoulder, the figure wearing leather armor is clearly a ranger of some variation. So far however no introduction has been offered or asked for, and the deep cowl keeps most from seeing what lies beneath. All in all Rhyn doesn't make for terribly good company as they travel with the merchant's caravan nor on the short trip to the farmhouse.

Upon arriving there the ranger takes note of the dwarven couple and glances at Skribbles, then offers a clearly displeased sigh. Not at Skribbles, but at the situation in general. "Greetings." Ah, a woman then if the voice is any indication; as these are the first words beyond grunts that she's offered as of yet.

Skribbles needed the money, and so agreed to go along on this little journey. Rhyn has been a barrel of laughs...not really...but the Goblin is making the best of the situation. Nothing has blown up yet, which for a Goblin, makes for a terribly dull journey and when she is told to go check out a barn, her Goblin instincts are to go tell the caravan leader to take a warhammer and find a sexual use for it, but she keeps that to herself as she wants to get paid.

She follows the...tall...humanoid..towards the farmhouse and squeaks when she realizes it is a woman. She doesn't say anything however, allowing her to make the introductions.

The dwarves see the people approaching, and hear their greetings. The each stand. Slowly putting their things down, and with effort rising to their feet. "Welcome," the man says. "You looking for a place to sleep? We've got room. If you can drive off any bandits that comes down that road, you're more than welcome. I'm Doyle, and this is my wife." Mrs. Doyle adds "Would you like some tea?"

"More... looking to gather information." It seems that the woman really can talk if she chooses to. Rhyn glances toward the road then back again. "You've had trouble with bandits? We're guarding a caravan so if you have any information about them that'd be a lot of help to us." There's a moment of awkward silence from Rhyn and then she finally replies. "No tea thanks, I'm working."

Skribbles glances at the Dwarves for a moment and thinks to herself that if she had one mission in life, it would be to rid the world of tea. What is it with tea, she continues thinking to herself, it's like dirty water with a nasty flavor. There's something shiny over there, wonder what that is? This is a ni...wait...what were we doing here? Oh yes! Bandits! Bandits and..."Beer, if you have it."

Mr. Doyle sits with a smile, gathering his whittling materials again. Mrs. Doyle shuffles down the steps and toward the adventurers. "Oh go on, you've been on the road all day, have a cup of tea. Just one sip for each of you? We have no beer, but we have plenty of tea."

Rhyn shifts her weight, taking a short step back from the woman. "No thanks. You were saying about those bandits though?" She sounds uneasy, though it could be just about anything given that her expression is hidden from sight. Hard to judge what someone's thinking when you can't see their face. Still, the mildly defensive posture is a good hint that the tone of voice is a correct indication.

Skribbles holds up a hand and says, "Sorry, I'm allergic to tea. It makes my mouth taste funny." She doesn't all out look at Rhyn but gets the idea that something funny might be up. "You've done alright out here for a place plagued by bandits. How ya' done it?"

Mr. Doyle looks up. "No particular bandit trouble. But trust me, ladies. You're not going to get anywhere until you have a cup of tea." He then points to a saucer not far from himself.

Mrs. Doyle nods firmly "Yes, just one cup. It's good for the soul. If you could please go out to the shed and fetch me a bag of leaves, I'll make enough for your whole caravan." She then points to a wooden shed in the shadow of the moonlight behind the farmhouse.

"Thanks." Rhyn doesn't smile, but she motions toward Skribbles to follow her as she makes her way toward the shed. She stops about halfway there however and starts making her way toward the caravan. "I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name earlier. I'm Rhyn, and that couple is /suspicious/. I say we tell the caravan to make do with sleeping on the range."

"...aaaaugh!" Feet. Two feet kick from the back of the wagon like awkward windmills. A moment later, a palescale crashes to earth. The creature's just under five foot, short for his kind--with pearlescent scales that make one wonder just how he's survived this long. 

He stands out like a sore thumb.

"Aaah. Ahhh! Oh, a mess that is. I nearly spilled the pepper--nearly spilled it. I would have, but the frog got it just in time," he says. Then, "Hullo, hullo! I see it's night, the dusk comes and the cloak settles. It is time to be awake!" he chirps, as he looks over. He's totally been sleeping in the caravan this whole time! Totally!

Skribbles snerks and says, "Suspicious is a bit of an understatement. What the fu...uhm...what is up with the tea? I'm almost wanting to grab a bag to see what it is she's trying to foist on us." She looks around a moment and says, "It might be they're trying to hold us off for the bandits." She follows Rhyn back to the caravan...beer-less...which makes it all the worse.

"Ahmo, it is. Ahmo of the shaman-caste. Hello, hello! Peasse to your nesst and all of that. Except you don't have one, hrmm. Well," the palescale says, as he snatches up his staff. He shakes it at Rhyn's nose. "I wish you peace anyway! Sso take that! That! Hah!"

The elder stands on his feet, on those backwards-sloping legs. "Ah, ahh. So they forgot the pepper-in the tea. They've added chamomile, instead! Well, well-well! Perhaps we shall make them tea, insstead--and spin the table. Spin the table, so no one knows which is which?"

"And find if they are willing to drink it, then? Hah!" he says, and whacks the butt of the stick onto the earth!

Mr. Doyle grins and resumes whittling. Mrs. Doyle is insistent. Walking right up to each of them in turn. "Oh go on just one cup of tea. I would go myself, to be a proper hostess, but it's late, and my eyes don't work the way they used to. Go on, just one cup. Best tea you've ever had. I'm almost out in the house, and that would be a shame. What could I offer the next guests?"

Rhyn frowns at the insistent woman. You can't see it, but it's there in her mien. "Okay, we'll go get your tea." She sounds about as happy about it as she might have about getting shot in the foot. She stalks off toward the area that Mrs. Doyle suggested. "I'm not drinking it. Nope. Couldn't pay me enough to. Not even if I was dying of thirst. I'd rather drink..." She's muttering to herself as she stalks along, not really caring anymore if she's being followed. "Stuff the tea down her throat and see how /she/ likes it!"

Skribbles looks at the Dwarven woman as Rhyn stomps off to get the bag of tea stuff. She smiles widely, fangs quite clearly showing as she says, "I'm sorry, tea doesn't sit right for me. You know, have you ever considered the fine art of alcohol brewing? I mean, with the water out here being so pure it's got to be good for it. I could even show you how to make a proper distillery."

"Hah! Well, well well! If by drinking it we might help you make more tea, then we shall! What puzzle this construes I am interested to know--will we be bled? Or skinned? Oh, just so! Tell me! The suspense thunders!" the palescale says, and Ahmo shakes the staff, shakes it, before thrusting it to the ground beside himself.

Then he leans over and says, conspiratorially: "Though, I have a secret! A secret I would share with you as we are sent ssweetly to our doom! Come--come! Take us to our murder!" he says, and will turn to head towards the--wherever people are headed!

 GAME: Ahmo rolls knowledge/nature: (19)+8: 27
 GAME: Rhyn rolls perception: (8)+8: 16
 GAME: Rhyn rolls reflex: (4)+6: 10

Rhyn steps out in front, and walks right into a trap. Before Ahmo can point out that there's an Assassin Vine growing on the shed, it strikes. The grass and weeds seize at Rhyn, grabbing at ankles and entangle Rhyn right up!

 GAME: Rhyn rolls escape artist: (13)+4: 17

The woman struggles with the vine, trying to break free of it's grasp. The action knocks back her hood violently, sending a spill of crimson hair out in every direction. She's a beautiful elvish woman under the cloak; one with a very, very irritated look on her face. Her cheeks turning pink with effort she manages to shrug the vines off and takes a quick hop back away from it. "Well -” What follows are some curses that are better off left unwritten.

Skribbles turns her head slightly towards the cursing, but doesn't take her eyes off the Dwarven woman. She smirks a bit, drawing her warhammer as she says, "Aww...now see....I thought we were going to be friends here." While she doesn't know that it was an assassin vine, she can guess that it had to be something bad back there with how pushy the Dwarf was.

Mrs. Doyle perks up as well, a frown on her face. "Is that raccoon back? Don't you let that bandit have any tea, or he'll never give it up!"

"Oh, oh ho! Let's see what the winds say, eh?" the palescale says, as Ahmo hops from foot to foot. He stops then, and raises a clawtip to the winds. "East and west, west and east--no, no, that won't do! We have that every day! Circles are more fun! It's tops-up!" he cries, and he swirls the claw round and round, round and round until there's a touch of a whirlwind--an ethereal whirlwind, and he flings it Rhyn's way!

"Have a bit of luck!" he calls out. "I found it in the wind!"

 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d20+7: (14)+7: 21
 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d8+7: (1)+7: 8

The vine lashes out, with good, long reach right at Rhyn and slams right into her! The vine is as thick as a human arm, and has an unnatural slither as its hand-like leaves move on the ground.

 GAME: Rhyn RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 4 temporary HP
 GAME: Rhyn rolls weapon1: (19)+3: 22
 GAME: Rhyn rolls 1d8+3: (2)+3: 5

She was already irritated coming into this place. Then, this vine comes out of nowhere and /chokes/ her. It's enough to infuriate anyone really, but when it whacks her hard enough that she feels the bruise already beginning to form? That's it. Rhyn’s blue eyes flash with gold and she draw her warhammer from her side and screams at the vine as though it might respond to her anger. "HOW DARE YOU, YOU STUPID /PLANT/!" She smashes her warhammer into the bloody thing viciously and... well it's a plant so it doesn't really care how angry she is at it.

Looking the Dwarven woman square in the eye now, she shakes her head and her grin grows even wider, "Now, now, my companion doesn't curse like that over some little racoon, and that....huh...sounds like a fight." She regrips her warhammer and shakes her head slightly, "You sent my party into a trap, you lumpy left testicle, didn't ya?"

Mrs. Doyle gets the most horrified look on her face. "What did you call me? Why, I'll give that raccoon a good thumping myself.." The elderly dwarf then starts shuffling over herself, waving her arm.

"Ah, ah--now you! A bit of spin, east to west! No, no...no! This is more interesting!" the palescale cries. He spins his tiny claws into the wind, and a small whirlwind forms! He tosses the wind towards the gobber--and it ruffles the shirt, the armor, the wind! It whispers, 'Luck!' to her, and the palescale cackles. Cackles, and leans back on his tail.

"Hah! Hah ha! There we go! There we go! She's not right in the head, you know! Not right! Not right! Now--now! Land an attack, and quickly, against the vines! You've luck on your side!"

 GAME: Ahmo rolls ref: (13)+4: 17
 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d20+7: (1)+7: 8 (EPIC FAIL)
 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d20+1: (8)+1: 9

The vine decides to invite Ahmo to have a cup of tea, and sends the grass and weeds to grab at Ahmo, but misses. It then lunges out to grab at Ahmo, but there's a snap, and the vine falls to the ground. Can... a vine ... trip?

 GAME: Rhyn rolls weapon1: (18)+5: 23
 GAME: Rhyn rolls 1d8+3: (7)+3: 10

Rhyn isn't about to let the plant get away. It's sneaking off (well not really sneaking) toward Ahmo, and that's just /not/ acceptable. Grinning with her ire the sildanari woman hefts the warhammer in both hands and slams it into the plant a second time. "IGNORE ME WILL YOU! TAKE THIS UP YOUR -" She's still cursing up a storm, things you definitely wouldn't want small children to hear.

Skribbles steps in front of the Dwarven woman and shakes her head, "Uh-uh, crazy tea-lady, you're gonna stand right there while they deal with whatever you sent them to." She tilts her head slightly and says, "Plant...huh? Whatcha got back there?"

Mrs. Doyle may be a kindly old lady, but she has the blood of warriors in her. "We'll see about that?" She keeps right on shuffling, and the woman, the dwarven equivalent of 80, may be there in an hour.

 GAME: Ahmo rolls spellcraft: (8)+9: 17

"Step away! Skitter and move! Dash this way and it can't get you!" Ahmo calls out to Rhyn. The palescale does this, himself--dancing away, moving away as quick as his pale legs might take him. Skitter skitter. Move, move!

 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d2: (1): 1
 GAME: Ahmo rolls ref: (17)+4: 21
 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d20+7: (7)+7: 14

The vine pulls itself up by its... vines, and tries again. But again, the relatively nimble Ahmo is ablet to dodge both the grass, and the vine itself lunging.

 GAME: Rhyn rolls weapon1: (16)+5: 21
 GAME: Rhyn rolls 1d8+3: (4)+3: 7

Rhyn... doesn't listen to Ahmo. In fact she chases /after/ the vine doggedly, determined clearly to see it dead. "COME BACK HERE YOU GODDESS-BLASTED WEED!" She's veritably red at this point, a huge vein bulging in her temple. It looks like she could actually, somehow, miraculously get /more/ angry.

Skribbles raises a brow as the old Dwarf lady tries to get around her. "You're kidding right? I have no problem breaking a kneecap to keep you from making mo...." She sighs and shakes her head, "What am I saying, it's not like you can run away." She throws her arms in the air and runs over to see if help is still needed.

Mrs. Doyle very slowly shakes a fist. "I'll deal with you after I deal with that raccoon."

Skribbles calls back, "Your mother's beard was short and scraggly!"

 GAME: Ahmo rolls 1d8+3: (8)+3: 11
 GAME: Skribbles rolls reflex: (6)+4: 10

"Ahmo looks at the building, then looks to Mrs. Doyle. His whiskers move, and wriggle. Wriggle, and one lashes out. It taps Rhyn on the shoulder, as though to say, 'excuse me,' before giving a flip, a twirl! And magic bends and squishes around them, and makes bruises fade, and cuts vanish!

"Ah-hah! Hah ha!" the palescale cries, as he skitters away! He dashes towards Mrs. Doyle, his whiskers wriggling, writhing like worms on his face. "Hullo! Gobber!" he cries, as he skitters past. "Hullo! I'll see to the female, here, now! I'll see to it!" and to Mrs. Doyle, he stops in front of her, and throws up tiny claws. "Raccoons! They've taken over your house! The neighborhood! Oh, everywhere, everywhere! Thousands! Hundreds! We must flea! Flea!"

 GAME: Erendriel rolls 1d20+7: (2)+7: 9
 GAME: Rhyn rolls weapon1: (14)+5: 19
 GAME: Rhyn rolls 1d8+3: (7)+3: 10

Now the plant is wiggling toward Skribbles. The sildanyari woman has had /enough/. Realistically speaking she'd already gone off the deep end some time ago, but now? Now she's hammering into the plant like it's personally offended her family. It stops wiggling a few inches shy of her companion but Rhyn doesn't stop there. She keeps hammering away until all that's left of the plant is pulp. Then she stands there breathing heavily, bits of leaf dripping from her hammer and turns her stormy eyes on the little dwarvish woman with what can only be described as murder in her eyes. "What in the name of - " Colorful words. So colorful that the air drips with them. "WAS THAT?"

Skribbles points at the murderous plant and says, "See, this is why I don't drink tea." She nods once.

Mrs. Doyle FINALLY makes her way around the corner. "Now where's that raccoon?"

Ahmo looks over as the hunter yells. He looks over with pearlescent ees that should be blind, should be... He then turns back 'round to Mrs. Doyle. "No, no. The wind has changed and they've tucked tail. They seem to have left, left and slithered away. Left, left...oh! Oh yes--oh!" he says, and the whiskers wriggle--lifting as though having had a reveation. He turns, and points to Skribbles, "The young gobber there wished to give you a hug, or three, to thank you for the tea. I think this is a ssoftskin thing, oh yes, yes. Strange ritualss, and customs..." he says and reaches up, to scratch at his whiskers. He falls to mumbling. "Hrmm...hrm..."

"...do not understand..." Ahmo mumbles, and takes his staff. He looks at it, and then sets a course for the cart. Pek-pek. Pek-pek...

Unsurprisingly Rhyn distinctly does not laugh. "Get your OWN tea." She stalks off after Ahmo muttering to herself vicious little things about not trusting little old dwarvish couples in the middle of nowhere offering you things you never wanted in the first place. "WE ARE CAMPING OUTSIDE!"

"Camping? But it is dusk!" the palescale wishes to know. He reaches out and taps the cart. Taps it again, before hauling himself into it. "Why, it is just time to wake up!" he says, and blinks towards Rhyn.

Skribbles follows Rhyn back towards the caravan. As she passes Mrs. Doyle, she points to her and narrows her eyes, speaking in a low voice, "I don't like you." She nods once and follows, cause Goblin don't give a damn.

Mrs. Doyle is undeterred. "You fine adventurers don't worry. I'll get you the tea from that scary raccoon." She then goes back, right past the now-dead vine, and into her shed. Slowly. When the party does wake up in the morning, they will find jugs of tea made up for each of them, ready to go.

-End

[[Category:Logs|Go on and have a cup]]