The Helm and Cloak Inn & Feast House - RP Thread

[Steve]

The two men at the bar...

...were deep in conversation—or so it would seem—as the moon-elf arrived, ordered, offered generous gratuity, then moved off to his way to a preferred chair.

But if the moon-elf would look up from his book, back towards the bar, he would most assuredly notice the two men still talking, but now, also looking from time to time, directly at the moon-elf, then, returning to a quiet debate. As it would appear to the moon-elf, these two men did not seem distressed or wary when observing from across the hall room...but it was obvious, they were talking about him.

Without further ado, the two men walked away from the bar on a path directly to the seated moon-elf. Once just outside the sitter's personal space, they two stopped, and then spoke:

"Sir...allow us to disturb your reading in this moment, and take a seat with you upon this table. What has been usual and reliable of the Helm is not longer so...and we feel it in your interest we tell you that, as you seem to plan to take lodging here. It is to your benefit...."

Smythe waits to see if the moon-elf is accommodating...and interested in what they have to say.

///we can try and take this up IG.

[Snarfy]

If the elf notices any glances made in his direction, he gives no indication of such. Indeed, he seems rather intent on his book, and occasionally frowns in slight consternation and scratches his hatted head above his pointed ear at reading certain passages. Any time the front door swung open, however, the elf would look up long enough to see who was either entering or leaving, and the twisting of the ring on his finger by his thumb would resume.

As the two men approached his table the hatted elf would, likewise, look up from his open book and push it slightly away as he folded his hands in his lap and regarded the pair with a brief appraising look, but otherwise wearing a muted expression.

"Things do seem decidedly 'off' at the Helm, don't they? Otherwise I might have been inclined to sit with my back to the door.", the elf concedes in a light tone before glancing to the nearby empty chairs with a slightly reluctant expression.

"I suppose that's fine. Fair warning though, I might not provide much in the way of a lengthy conversation. A brief reverie before I return to the see the healer about putting the finishing touches on this mess...", he raises his gloved hand to gesture to his scarred jaw, "... is as long as I had planned to stay.".

A decidedly dour expression would flash over the elfs features as he finished speaking, but he would motion vaguely towards the empty chairs before folding his hands in his lap and gazing calmly at the men again...

(( I'll be around between 15:00 - 19:00/21:00 the next couple of days ))

[DM Golem]

Jolboss Twylar, Javalar Roaringhorn and Balanta Whiteshield, regular residents of the Helm & Cloak - if in recent months they have had a tendency to resume their adventures beyond the taproom - are seen as regular fixtures in the Inn once more.

During the undead crisis the trio had begun to concentrate more on adventuring, and afterwards they kept this up, to surrender lodgings to others in more need.

Yet, during the siege itself they vigorously defended their favorite drinking hole, and its wine cellar, against the Undead Hordes and having spoken with their fellow knight Jon Smythe begin to visually, and vocally, stand guard in the Helm & Cloak.

Each day, a loud and pompous toast is issued by Jolboss Twylar, with Javalar Roaringhorn and Balanta Whiteshield echoing it with greater and lesser enthusiasm depending on the heaviness of the drinking the night before. They let it be known, The Helm & Cloak is under the protection of the Knights of the Unicorn.

For all their swagger and the perpetual goblets in hand or nearby, these are skilled adventurers, and it might be thought they are taking the recent burglary on the Helm & Cloak seriously.

[Steve]

Two persons of regular sighting within the Helm & Cloak—Jon Smythe and Adam Rivers...though possibly not know by name—could have been easily seen talking with a particularly frustrated—and inebriated—noble, watched over by his hired hands/servants.

It would appear that after speaking to him, the pair, Smythe and Rivers, had a calming effect on the noble, even appearing to turn his frustration to a cheery disposition. What dialogue was exchanged, would be mostly incoherent to any without exceptional hearing [I'd say PM Golem if you want to know what was said].

Later, the pair would part ways for a time, Rivers speaking and being shown to other rooms within the Feast House, by Morris, the bartender. Smythe remained in the main floor and sometimes leaving to the Second Floor occupied by the Knights of the Unicorn. Smythe appeared to talk to many of the guests, with a certain diligence, maybe even a bit of exaggerated diplomacy in his choice of words.

By all accounts, even the dullest of wits would gleam that the pair of "knights," Smythe and Rivers, were conducting some form of investigation.

[Steve]

For some hours, the ex-bookseller extraordinaire and proclaimed Knight of the Unicorn Jon Smythe did sit with a finely hatted moon elf, drinking water, and reading from a particular book.

The Feast House—crowded as such with the great many noble guests using the facilities during the general Palace District rebuild—was warm, energetic...and as of recent developments, one of the most safest places within the Gate...some spreading the rumor even safer than the Palace itself!

The two—full and half-bloods they be—did not speak especially quietly at the table, yet neither boasted loudly...only random words would have reached ears other than their own, through the general din of the large room.

Words such as "burglary," "rumors," "petty thieves," "ruffian dwarves," "miserable elf woman in green," "pillows," and "good luck."

The two appeared to leave the table, satisfied in the conversation, and together...yet parting to head in very different directions.

[Nayriak]

An unfamiliar Moon Elf steps within the tavern, taking a brief moment to view the patrons. Some rowdy, some speaking quietly and giggling in a corner of the establishment but all seeming merry and lighthearted. Satisfied, he walks further in, not towards the bar, but to a secluded seat on the corner in view of the door. Just as he took his seat, the waitress quickly rushes over.

"What's your preference this day?" She asked, in a polite but rushed tone.

"Nothing for me, my thanks" The Elf responds in a melodious low tone. As she turns to leave, he quickly slips in a question. "...I am told this is where those Whom Chase the Unicorn gather?"

[Steve]

A day or so past, the inhabitants and patrons of the Helm and Cloak would have seen that two known members of the Knights of the Unicorn—Jon Smythe and Adam Rivers—departed from the Inn with a certain determination upon their faces...as if upon a mission.

It is plausible that any newcomers to the Inn, especially those seeking any of the Knights, would gravitate towards a circulating rumor—most likely started by the chatty bouncer—that Smythe and Rivers headed toward the ruined wizards tower in the north of the Palace District, themselves, out to verify a rumor the bouncer himself, had passed on to them.

As it would be seen—or not seen would be better said—the two "knights" have yet to return to the Helm and Cloak.

The only other gossip related to anything regarding this, is another vine being commented upon, being grown, that speaks of a foul smelling odor that has emanated from a sewer lid being left open, very near the vicinity of the same, ruined wizards tower...but few in side the Inn imagine two respectable "knights"—especially the one called Smythe—getting their fine boots dirty in the underground muck of the city....

[Steve]

Those familiar with the regulars of the Helm & Cloak might notice that the often seen—and heard...loudly—Knights of the Unicorn are a few men short...two, to be exact, should the more persistent person make inquiries.

With basic diplomacy employed, the curious would learn that the "knights" Jon Smythe and Adam Rivers departed some days ago from the Inn on what many would call a "mission," something related to the recent burglary of the Helm.

Oddly, they did leave the Helm prepared for a lengthy journey...so their days of absence does start to seem more and more peculiar, to the regulars of the Helm & Cloak.

[Steve]

High riding expectations lead to emotions of despair and disappointment, immediately with force, as the half-Elven ex-bookseller and many-moons-ago Knight of the Unicorn Jon Smythe enters into the Helm and Cloak inn and feast house, to see...only Bellan standing there, idle, holding drink in hand, back to the door, and lost in reverie—or confusion...—to his many packages piling at his feet.

No Jolboss, no Javalar, no Balanta...and to his greatest dismay, as it was his most hopeful vision created in mind as he walked the cobblestones from the north gate to the Helm and Cloak, to enter and see his long-ago compatriot Adam Rivers, same as ever, and in this dreamed-for-reality moment, smiling back as his friend "knight" enters out of thin air...or as it where, the fog of sea mist.

Alas, the case was certainly far from visioned hope. It was empty, this reality and this feast house, interpreted in emotion by Smythe. The half-Elf in despair placed hands upon his hips and frowned, standing now still, looking so obviously stuck in the moment, not knowing where to go next, what to do, next.

As a pair now entered behind him—a man of physical devilish heritage and a scholarly-looking woman—Smythe hastened to take a seat at the counter-bar, placing his trusty companion-of-a-bookseller's valise at his feat, looking forlorn and saying nothing to nobody for some time. Then finally, willful push blew strength into his sails, keeping him on course:

"Morris, old man...tis I, Jon Smythe...ye have not forgotten so? I have returned...as you can see clearly. Some of your finest vintage, please, my goodman. I need to think...and plan. And do tell...where have all the "Knights" gone?!?"

[Steve]

The half-Elven Jon Smythe, barely lands his butt upon his dinner chair within the feast house named the Helm and Cloak, when...

A courier arrives at the Helm and Cloak huffing and puffing as he hastily explains the delay in response, being that he misplaced the letter and offering a thousand apologies.

With eyes wide, Smythe raises his glass of Saerloonian glowfire wine at the courier, accepting these thousand apologies with grace, and in turn, thanking the courier, to which he says: "I will surely, good servant, respond with haste."

[Steve]

Related to a notice placed within Baldur's Gate upon public notice boards, a parchment has been posted in the Helm and Cloak:

.

Proposed NAMES for the vessel of the
Chionthar Charter & Seaward Supply ~

A final choosing upon reach mid-Alturiak
~~~~~~

• The Fleetwood

.

[Steve]

After a quick second looking over the parchment he posted within the Helm and Cloak, Smythe calls across the main floor to Morris, who is reliably at station, wiping down freshly washed wine glasses. "It is mid-Alturiak, yes?"

With Morris' head dip in agreement, Smythe places a hand on his chin, and pulls at it, twice. "Well...the midnight bells have yet to ring."

Then, noticing Morris with a fresh-yet-empty wine glass in hand, Smythe says: "Might as well put that glass to use, good man—make it a fairer-than-usual pour! I may find a good return on a lucky find, in the coming days...."

[Steve]

The half-Elven Jon Smythe is seen taking down the posted parchment once hanging openly within the Helm and Cloak.

Then, a bit of playacting occurs as he stands there: the half-Elven reaches with his left hand to his waist belt, and retrieves a small pouch. With ease of dexterity, with his left hand he empties the contents of the small pouch, ten diamonds, into his waiting right hand.

"Thank you for your participation, Jon." says the half-Elven. Then, as if answering himself, he says "You are very welcome, Smythe."

Continuing on with his act, the half-Elven then takes his right hand full with diamonds, and pours them back into the small pouch, and with his right hand, deftly hangs the pouch upon his right side upon waist belt.

"The Fleetwood it shall be. And with non financial loss, I say, it is a gain!" He grins, while turning to Morris, the barkeep. "A few bottles of Saerloonian glowfire, on me!"

[Steve]

Sitting among many of his compatriots with allegiance to the Knights of the Unicorn, and among some Flaming Fist officers both on and off duty...and, with quite a few bottles of wine, empty, upon the table before them all, a known half-Elf merchant is easily overheard—perhaps quite intentionally trying to be heard—with the feast hall, comments:

"Can you, my good friends, find reason behind such a position? Truly...what path has the Dukes of this fair City embarked, years now ongoing from what I have gathered such...to be bedfellows with the Black Network, those Zhentarim dogs that outside the gates brazenly promote death and destruction under a banner of Might Equals Right, and within these gates...they are treated as equal as all good natured citizens, just so long as they "behave..."" the half-Elf rolls his eyes.

"Do you, my good knights and men-of-arms, remember...that statement now barely remembered, but once shouted loud and with pride: Tolerance is Treason! And though the face of the foe of goodness and fair deeds may have changed, evil is not now good if the mask is of difference!" The half-Elf swings around his glass in the air, as if to emphasize the point.

"And...did you hear? The Dukes even called for Lord's Alliance courtiers to venture their dark castle and validate a new crowning of a Dreadlord?!? A Dread...Lord!!! One can only imagine, that tis but time before we sit under a Fifth Duke of Dread!!!"

"I tell you, my friends...the more we let those with darkened hearts closer to our families and our homes...and our livelihoods...the sooner we will see a corruption grow that is unstoppable." With a performers flourish, the half-Elf stands, then, devours the last of the wine within his glass, slightly swaying.

"What say you, men of good faith and men of good nature...are you ready to stand up to such a scourge, that which is courting the Dukes and thus given a much too long a leash, in these lands held in safety and prosperity by the Lord's Alliance?!? What say you!"

Some patrons may have stared with eyes wide, shocked in response, while some others may find reason to take the half-Elf's words to heart. Needless to say, the environment and place such words were spoken hosts a particular section of Baldur's Gate society, and to the extent such words are carried beyond this table, this evening, is not known....

[Steve]

A half-Elf with a bushy white shoulder attire sits down at a table occupied by a young, Sembian-looking lad, a bottle of Saerloorian glowfire and two glasses placed between them.

“Heard word a young man was seeking his fortune as “bard-lomat,” and perhaps more...so, young buck, what know ye of the waters and seas, and be ye willing to get yer “hands wet” in the hasty business of import and export?! The Chionthar Charter & Seaward Supply Co. could use a charismatic voice, combined with an already employed grand intellect....”

The half-Elf pours out into the two glasses, a healthy pour, the liquid nearly spilling over the lips in generosity.

“I am Smythe, Jon Smythe. Adventurer. Seafarer. Swordsman. Once war councilor to the Ducal Court. Ex-bookseller extraordinaire. And still, a man of half-blood seeking to make a few things straight.

And you...do ye have much of a past, or be ye simply willing to make history?” He grins, smiling freely to Tyrynn, picking up his glass, raiding it toward the young man, and practically draining back the entire contents in one go.