conversations: human
conversations:  It seems all of Downswest has come to the Dripping Bucket tonight to see the Stranger. The room is filled with whispers as the tall, middle aged man wearing armor and carrying a long sword sits quietly and peaceably by himself at the bar, sipping the best wine available (which is also the worst wine, being the only wine served here). Everyone, from The Tarjun family still wearing the dirt from the fields to the high and mighty Bestons who make up the mayor's well dressed constabulary, are whispering back and forth about the dark haired and dark skinned man who came into town earlier that day. The waitresses are all crawling over each other to serve him because he tips in gold- more gold than anyone in town has seen in their whole lives. While the gossip and dares swirl around him, this man simply sips his wine and eats his baked potato in silence, a dim smile on his face that makes his few wrinkles stand out. He taps his boot in time to the guitar that Olson Greeney plays in the corner, slapping his hand to a book held to his side by a leather strap. Meanwhile, like most nights, a group of friends, the strongest, most dangerous, and most skilled fighters this meager town has to offer, sit at a table saved just for them in the back of the room. Normally everyone would be talking about them, but tonight they are left to their own devices, with a new attraction entrancing the crowd.
  
  Nattie, the daughter of the owner, slips up to your table and blows a loose strand of hair out from her vision. "And what will you lot be having this evening? Dinner? Drinks? Or just come to gossip and gaggle like the rest of these star struck fools?"
  
   
   Spoiler: OOC 
  Feel free to introduce yourselves. What are you drinking? What is your relationship with the rest of the town? What do you think of the stranger? Let's get into it!
   
conversations: purepolarpanzer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Ragnian sits at the table wearing the outfit he affectionately calls his fancy civ'ies. These finely made cloths resemble that of a courtier accompanied with a pristine golden necklace.  He traded some armor for the pair so he can look fancy when he's out on the town.  Though even when dressed up, he is always at least somewhat prepared in case of danger, he wears a chain shirt under his finery and keeps the weapon of his god on his hip. He looks to the waitress,  "I shall have a mug of your always delicious ale and whatever the freshest meat is on the menu for the day.  Also do you know what's up with the armored man?  I don't question a man keeping a weapon readily available, but going to a pub in full armor seems like an odd choice." 
conversations: Barebates:
conversations: human
conversations:  Hezekiah is never quite settled when the tavern is this full, but his friends seem to think they have to see this stranger.  So he sits at their regular table with his back to the wall nursing a glass of honey mead.  He smiles a bit when Ragnian's pretensiousness pops out in it's usual way, not minding his own business.  As they wait on the other's to arrive, he glances at the stranger himself, wondering why such a man is in Downswest.  Nattie's question draws his attention back to the table, though.   "Last night's stew, if you have any left.  And another mug of the mead, please."   Smiling up at her, giving her a wink.   "And whatever gossip you've picked up about yon lone warrior..." 
conversations: Kvard51:
conversations: human
conversations:  It was kind of nice, really. People not talking about him. Actually, people just ignoring him in general. Like he was just a normal, uninteresting part of the scenery. It'd be nice to get used to it, but he isn't dumb enough to think it'd last.
  
  He just hopes  this  passing adventurer wasn't going to cause the next him.
  
   "I'll just have whatever needs using up..."  he mumbles, as quietly as he can. Ragnian and Hezekiah he's okay with, but he still feels awkward talking to anyone else, even when he's with them.
  
  He steals a glance or two at the adventurer.
   "...I don't like him,"  he says, barely even loud enough for the other two to hear. It was petty, and exactly what everyone always did to him, and the man seemed harmless enough, but all he could see when he looked at that face was his mother, waiting by the window for a man to come home who never would.  "...Sorry. I'm just being a downer, aren't I...?" 
conversations: kjelfalconer:
conversations: human
conversations:  "One ale with a shank of lamb, one mead with some nearly solid but still delicious stew, and one black barrel stout from the back of the basement with a fresh salad. As far as our traveller, he appears to be waiting for someone. Not business, from the sound of things. Something personal. The kind of personal business that might involve a sword." Nattie's eyes go wide as her imagination plainly runs wild with her. Still, there might be some credence to her words, as the loud noise of a chair scraping across the floor sends the man's hand to the grip of his sword in a flash. The room goes silent for a moment, with all eyes on this warrior, until he let's out a loud booming laugh.  Sorry, all. Thought I heard a dragon!  There's a small chorus of nervous chuckles as people go back to their drinks, but now more than ever all eyes are on the weathered traveller, and the whispers flow faster than the taps. As the friend's meals and drinks are brought out, it becomes clear that after every few drinks the man of the hour is tipping his eyes in your direction.
  
   Sense Motive 
   
   Spoiler: DC 15 
  The man is taking stock of your group's arms and armor, weighing your gear and your demeanor. He's obviously recognized you as all being somewhat more skilled than those around you.
   
  
   
   Spoiler: DC 20+ 
  This traveller is taking specific notice of Arc. Not in the superstitious, half-fearful manner of the townsfolk of Downswest, but with an experienced and well travelled eye. He's looking at Arc like someone he might know, or someone he might want to talk to.
   
conversations: purepolarpanzer:
conversations: human
conversations:  "What don't you like about him Arc? Is it more than his choice of attire or that he keeps glancing over here?  Or that he's clearly on edge about something?" 
   
   Spoiler: Sense Motive 
   (1d20+6)[ 10 ] 
   
conversations: Barebates:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler: OOC  
  
  Sense motive
   (1d20)[ 14 ] 
   
conversations: kjelfalconer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Zeke laughs at the dragon remark, along with most of the tavern.  Arc seems a little irritable, but that's no reason to not laugh at a funny joke, is it?  Of course, the stranger seems a little jumpy himself.  At some point, all of his stares and looks would become offputting enough to force Zeke to leave...
  
   
   Spoiler: OOC 
  Sense Motive:  (1d20+2)[ 3 ] 
   
conversations: Kvard51:
conversations: human
conversations:  He could  feel  the stares. So, he thought, as he sank back into his seat, this one was just like everyone else. He was an  adventurer , after all. He probably killed drow all the time. Maybe he was just surprised to see he'd missed one.
  
  He guessed everyone out there was like that too.
conversations: kjelfalconer:
conversations: human
conversations:  The new local celebrity stands up, whispers a few words to the barman, who nods and obliges with a small fortress of drinks on a tray. He motions to one of the serving girls, but the stranger has none of that and lifts the drinks himself, carrying them over to the table you are all settled around. " Gentlemen. I couldn't help but notice you all from across the bar. Do you mind if I sit down with you all for a moment? Drinks are on me if you'll indulge me a bit of your knowledge about this area.  He flashes his best winning smile and sets the tray down, as though the matter is already decided. He doesn't actually sit, simply leaning on the table, glancing at each of you for a few moments.  I was hoping to ask about what threats there are in the area. Any monsters, goblinoids, undead. That sort of thing. 
conversations: purepolarpanzer:
conversations: human
conversations:  Always happy for a free drink, Zeke waves to a seat at the table.   "Join us.  I'd be happy to share my meager knowledge for the price of a mug of mead."   He smiles at the man,  "What name should we call you by, then?" 
conversations: Kvard51:
conversations: human
conversations:  Arc sulked into his drink. Honestly, he wanted to be as far away as possible from this man, but Zeke wanted him there, so he bit his tongue, and settled for glowering into his drink instead. Or what he thought was glowering. In truth, he looked more like a deer frozen in shock.
conversations: kjelfalconer: