Logfile from Ten.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Myrrish Camp *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

   Soldiers. Ferriers. More soldiers. Cooks. Cavalrymen (and cavalrywomen). Healers. Officers. All these and more bustle through the neatly-pitched sea of tents that make up the Myrrish camp, no matter the time of day or night. At night, firelight flickers off the tents and lengthens peoples' shadows.

An herbal scent comes from a large group of tents off to the side, nearest the front lines--these tents an an appropriated farmhouse make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought. A neat graveyard stands behind the field hospital--a few men are almost always on duty digging new graves.

Nearby, an entire (albeit quite small) town has been appropriated for officer's quarters and Myrrish war business--the smithy in particular is certainly making money. The only tavern in the tiny town, the Blushing Rosalia, is something of a gathering place for officers and adventurers.

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 Darshan         Darkly scaled sith in blacksmith's clothes and iron   0s   20m

 Chiddle         Gnome, Unusually Dark hair, Leather and Waistcoat.    19s  1h

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Blushing Rosalia <BR>     The Front Lines <TFL>    

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Ceres has arrived.

Announcement: Whirlpool shouts, "A scene will be beginning at the Myrrish camp shortly for those who want to come!"

Karelin has arrived.

Carmina has arrived.

It's another day on the front lines.

 A battle broke out this morning, though a small one, when a feinting maneuver by Goblinoid soldiers to draw out Myrrish soldiers was ended by the quick thinking of several scouts, discerning what it was that happened. Given that it was quite nearly a bad day for the Myrrish forces early on, people are feeling a little happier tonight than they otherwise could've been. While the battle itself was over quickly, and merely a small engagement in the larger theater of war, it still has the effect of boosting morale.

 In fact, several people are just now bugging Ceres to head over to the Blushing Rosalia.

 And sing.

 "Come on, lass. I've heard elves have voices that'll make the gods weep. Sing for us!"

Ceres laughs, and tilts her head, "My pride suggests I agree wholeheartedly with that statement, good sir, but modesty forbids. Have you any preferences for song this evening? A ballad, or a chant, a comedy or a drinking song?" she calls out so that more than just the one can offer suggestions.

Darshan stands nearby, a lazy contentment to the sith's features. He drops a set of coins in his pouch and Srassha nudges at the same, twice, her big nose nuzzling and looking for something to eat. "Something to celebrate their failures!" he calls out, and laughs at his mount, who continues nosing the change purse. "The scouts did a damn good job this morning."

Karelin is sitting with a group of Korite acolytes, walking them through an after-action report of the battle. Then he's asking for and making suggestions about how they could improve. Call it prayer.

Carmina's cheeks are smudged with dirt on both sides. She has unrolled a very large map and is putting rocks in different spaces, sliding them along with a thoughtful expression. "No, /that/ can't be right," muttered to herself. An apprentice, who vocalized an interest in geography, stands over her, looking baffled. Then, hearing the people calling for song, Carmina looks up, blinking. "Singing elves.." she says.

Djordo is binding herbs into tight bundles, the scent of healing greenery coming heavily from the sacks he sorts and packs them into. He looks over, tilting his nicked-up hat as he pauses to think, before shouting out as he bends twine around bag marked for medicine. "Victory is fair, but fairer still are better times--when war is a thing for children to play at. If the other stories of Elves are true, they have long memory and green country enough to sing us some songs of bright days! That," the Tsurai says, "Or a comedy would suit me."

The Veyshanti is not far from the Blushing Rosalia. Chandra is busily brushing the coat of a very tall, black stallion. It must be at nearly 16 hands high. The very colourful blanket and heavily decorated bridle on the ground beside her. "Atul, you did well." She speaks to the horse as if it understands. "Father did see that you were trained for battle." The brushing stirring up a cloud of dust from the battlefield.

"Well, there's that Ballad floatin' around. The one about that blackguard that ran away," he does not know Ceres wrote it yet, apparently. "And there's plenty of classics! You can have yer pick! We just want us a song to celebrate today's victory."

 The clouds overhead indicate that you're in for a spring storm, too, or at least its beginning to seem that way.

"Pencil," Carmina says, holding out her hand to the apprentice. She crawls onto the map (yes, it's that big), leaning forward and erasing some trench lines. "Those are further back," muttered to herself.

Chiddle has disconnected.

"So, a comedy, celebration of failures," Darshan gets a bit of a grin, before continuing on, "and That Ballad. What to sing, what to sing... luckly, I think That Ballad hits both the other two points, and more importantly, I remember how it goes..." Ceres confides to, well, everyone. There's a bit of a laugh, then she adds, with a glance to the sky, "So, into the Rosalia we go? Or shall we brave the elements?"

A horse? Of course! Srassha starts and looks over at the new arrival...a rope of drool goes with it, slobbering on her rider's arm--who looks down at it and stares a while before he grimaces, and reaches for something in his pack. In the distraction, she goes back to nudging the change purse, and--nips it, grabbing it in her teeth. In seconds, it hangs triumphant in reptilian jaws. "Mrrrmm...yes!" he glares up at Srassha. "Just give me a second, here."

Karelin looks up suspiciously at the talk of singing.

It starts to rain. A little. Drip. Drip.

Carmina takes off her cloak and throws it over the map. She crawls under the cloak. There is a magical glow. Back to work.

Chandrakanta pockets the one brush to pull another for the horses mane. She gives more care to its upkeep then her own before she redresses the horse in the colourful bridle, its covered in fringe and skilled embroidery. An unusual sight this far north, properly outfitted Veyshanti stallion. She glances up only once that is in place, noting the bard and the cadre of folks begging for songs. "I owe you apples, Atul. I will endeavor to find you one, for now you will have to survive on carrots and hay." A hard life, being Chandra's stallion. She frown at the rain, beginning to scurry to get the blanket and saddle into place.

Djordo is slightly rained on, a bit of wetness sneaking through the newly earned slits in his hat, courtesy of a goblinoid haberdasher who was paid for his service in steel. The Tsuran wears it jauntily to the side now. "To the blushing lady, I would say, unless we want to sing in the rain."

Karelin looks up, and grins at the acolytes. "Its going to rain. Time to learn to fight in the rain. Go find Brother Vargen." He gestures, then heads towards Chandra and the horse. "Nice horse." He grins a greeting. "Going to get him inside?"

The rain begins to pick up speed as the various men go to usher Ceres into the Blushing Rosalia, of course. Officers and others. AS the door opens, another voice can be heard. A singing voice. It sounds like an elf as well.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* The Blushing Rosalia *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

   The Blushing Rosalia is a small, fairly nondescript tavern with the requisite two stories--rooms on the top floor, a common room with a fireplace, kitchen, and a couple of small meeting rooms on the ground floor. Neither food nor accommodation is particularly spectacular, but the food is better than what's being served out in the camp and the straw mattresses are better than uneven ground.

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 Carmina         Short, slender, blond half-elf in wizard attire.      14s  1h

 Karelin         Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.      1m   1h

 Chandrakanta    Dredlocked Veyshanti Averite with ink and blades.     5m   3h

 Djordo          Ruddy Tsurai fellow in oddly mixed linens and hide.   1m   1h

 Darshan         Darkly scaled sith in blacksmith's clothes and iron   11s  1h

 Whirlpool                                                             0s   2h

 Ceres           Silver-haired elf, tall and extremely graceful        46s  1h

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Myrrish Camp <MC>        

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As you all make your way into the Blushing Rosalia, there's still singing going on here. There's plenty of officers hanging about along with the enlisted men. Alcohol is flowing freely, as freely as it ever does for men on their own free time at this hour, and it's mostly a large number of people having a good time.

 Sitting on the bar, done up in a colorful outfit, is another elf. One some of you may even recognize as Atar. He's singign, in elven, an apparently riotously funny song. To him, anyways. He can barely keep a straight face. Most of the men are rather confused, but the song is at least catchy and the lute he's playing is at least being done well.

 "Clowns never laughed before," he sings.

The sith looks towards the sky and towards his mount, who continues dangling the coinpurse out of reach. Not that there's alot in it--it hangs loosely from reptilian jaws, and jingles with the quickening patter of rain. And slides down his own muzzle. And into his armor, and the padding there.

In just a few hours, that's going to start to smell. The sith clears his throat, and throws an arm about her shoulders, grabbing hold of the coinpurse before heading inside the small tavern.

Carmina picks up her map and cloak, hustling into the Rosalia before the rain picks up. Entering the bar, she pauses. "Oh no," whispered. The apprentice next to her looks up. "Oh man, it's /that/ guy."

Ceres is easily ushered into the Rosalia, laughing at the enthusiasim for the singing, and the removal from the rain. Casting her glance around, she spots Atar, not that she's met the elf before, and considers him. Or more properly, his lute.

It takes Chandra a few moments to get inside, she brings him to the stable and pays extra for a dry spot, finding Karelin once she's inside the Rosalia for a drink, "He is a very good horse, perhaps one of my Father's best." She waves down a serving maid, "An ale for me.." And then she realizes that there is singing, eyes pointed at Atar, jaw gaping.

...and looks promptly horrified. The sith jams the coinpurse in place with a choked noise, and moves to stand near Ceres. "Don't..." he says after a few moments, "...make any sudden moves." He looks towards the elf, around the room--someone looking for exits. For potential objects. Or simply assessing how much of the inn is burnable.

Djordo can't catch the words, and doesn't know Atar from a hole in the wall. The herb-bundler shakes off some rainwater and packs the sack under a chair that he pulls from an empty table place. Sitting, he quirks a dark eyebrow at the expression of the others who came in, and then back to Atar. "Why the strange faces? Is this a man of some importance?" He lowers his voice, conspiratorially, as to not offend the singer. "His music is fine, but certainly not fine enough to earn such looks of suprise."

Karelin's eyes close. "Oh, hells. All of them." He eyes the ceiling beams. "I think my parents were kinder." His lips twist, then looks down and to the side. "That is good. Did he perform well this morning? Also, I think I need some whiskey."

Finally, his song ends and he turns towards the Bartender, saying brightly, "Can I have one of those fruity drinks again? With the little pimento in it?" He looks hopeful as the bartender gives him a blank stare, having no idea what he's talking about. Atar shakes his head, sighing, "Where has civilization g- DARLING!" He bounces towards Carmina and aims to sweep her up into a big old hug. "It is good to see you! Come, have a seat! And sing with dear old dad." And with that, he starts to sing again.

 He's actually not a terrible singer at all, even if he has a sort of girly-elf-voice thing going.

Also, he is wearing a traditional jester's hat. And tights.

"Oof," Carmina says, quietly accepting the mortification. But then she notices something. "DAD YOU ARE CRUSHING MY MAPS." Someone's had a long day.

Really, you'd think Wayne Newton with his shirt own to his navel and gold chains was performing at the horrible reactions Atar is getting from some of this crowd. Chandra nods slowly to the waitress, "make it an ale and two whiskeys." She tries not to stare at the train wreck. "Very well, it was at if he was born into battle. I will write my Father in the morning, he will be pleased."

Karelin's arms fold across his chest, and he lowers his chin. "Poor Carmina." A nod. "So, he and you are talking more?"

Ceres tilts her head, then looks at Darshan a bit dubiously. "Why? Is there something dangerous here? Hm.. he sings rather well - and his lute-playing is also very good. I wonder if he would be willing to accompany me for the men's song.." she ponders, not exactly keeping her voice down. Or ordering booze.

"Nrnnnng..." the sith says, and moves again. It's subtle, this moving, subtle as a trainwreck, a move that places the paladin of Daeus between the singing elf and as many of the inn's patrons as possible. "He is..." the sith taps the side of his head. "Normally--" phrasing, phrasing, "The Altheans care for him very much. They mrm, must be worried to find him missing."

Djordo stands abruptly, sensing the possibility for comedy, the chair skidding a bit with a wooden snerk, dragging with the herbs still packed under. "Wait, sir Elf! If you are to sing again, please do so in the common tounge! This touching reunion should be shared by all," he says, doing his best to sound formal, warm, and convincing. "Please, let me attend to your libations, while you uplift us in song. Perhaps some amongst the newly arrived could join as well."

"Your maps? Oh. You always did get a little sensitive about those things, you know. They're just pieces of paper, my little flower. You really ought to've relaxed about them by now!" He lets her go though and turns his eyes onto Ceres. He strums his lute. "Ah! A fellow elf! My, you're lovely as well! Would you liek some cookies? Do you have any from the fruit of the bread tree? I do so hope you have. These humans don't understand.." He pauses, then he bemas at her. "You sing! You can accompany *me*, my dear! I know the best songs for the occasion." He's totally saying he's better.

"Before I left we spoke. We shared a meal and spoke of.." Chandra can't help but give another glance, sympathy filling her eyes, "I truly am fortunate, at least my Father only wishes I was wed and obediant, he does not make a fool of himself in front of other." Her head shakes, picking up the dropped thread of thought, "He spoke of his and my mother's desire to have grandchildren, and I suggested that if they want a house full of children, they should open it to the orphanages of Alexandria. I have also suggested to Rawsone that they are perfectly capable of watching Regin and Samantha if she comes to the front again."

"Let go, please," Carmina says, trying to wriggle her way free. The comment about maps being insignificant means that she doesn't feel disobedient by stepping on his toes. "Does grandmother know you're here?" She tries to distract her father.

"I would be more than happy to do so, Master... ah... well, yes. Alas, I have promised these good men a certain song or two, and would be reamiss if I did not do my best to first fulfill my duties.." Ceres offers after a long moment of counting numbers in a number of languages.

Karelin nods once. "Kind of you." He reaches for the whiskey. Then he looks at Djordo. "Asshole, we're all on the same side here. Don't provoke the loremistress, its bad for your health."

The sith licks his muzzle, a reaction of some kind. "Mrm...excuse me--" he says, and reaches over to snag the arm of someone--sober. Right now, that's the basic qualification. "Would you fetch one of the healers of Althea, please?" he asks, and produces a silver coin. "I feel the most pious of needs to speak with one, but am unable to--" a look at the crowd, the elves, the...crushed maps. "--leave."

"Well, I want them to feel part of the city if they are going to be living there." Chandra reaches for her ale first, coughing a bit as Karelin speaks the direction of the crowd. "Such a touching way with words, but yes, one should not provoke the ire of a good ally." She gives another overly sympathetic look towards Carmina.

Djordo looks back at Karelin with a suspicious sidelong glance. "So serious! We are already in lack of good cheer without seeking to quash it in others. If we're all on the same side, it should not be provocative." With that he moves off to do as he had at first suggested, and sees about some drinks.

Dorian has arrived.

Karelin glares at Djordo angrily. "So don't twist someone else's knife." He downs his whiskey, then looks for more.

"Have you, now! Well, it is my time to sing at the moment! You can wait until I am done." Apparently, Ceres is distracting Atar from his daughter (thankfully, no doubt, for Carmina) and he strums his lute again and clears hsi throat, starting to sing. A few of the enlisted men groan, clearly wanting to see the other elven bard sing. Indeed, they begin stamping their feet, encouraging her to to just go over him.

Carmina slips away from Atar's grasp, then moves to safety (behind Karelin and Chandra). She snags one of the glasses of whiskey that has been poured, sipping it and watching Atar through the space between others.

"I believe we may need a bottle at the table." Chandra shifts her chair to give the half-elf better protection from Atar. She hardly pays the singers too much attention, "did the Korites fight well?' She asks Karelin.

When the first man passes by, the sith grabs another by his sleeve. "Mrm..." and he gives the speech again, offering a silver coin. His attention's quietly torn between the two elves and the man in front of him. Poor elves. Poor Altheans. They probably let him go just so they could tend their patients without Atar breaking into a chorus of...oh, no. We're not going there.

Dorian walks into the Rosalina, dirty and sweaty. Perhaps he could find some sort of refuge from the harsh conditions of the campsite in the tavern, or perhaps not. In any case he walks in to take a rest, and a drink wearing a non-sleeved shirt and a rag on his head, tied like a headband.

Ceres arches one brow - a move she probably practiced in the mirror as a young elfling, then grins. Waiting for Atar to hit a chorus, the elf hops up on a barstool, balancing on the lowest rungs, then lifts her voice, and starts to sing her own song. /That/ song, in fact.

================================= Sendor War =================================

Message: 18/8                      Posted        Author

W.A.R. means Written Aggrevation R Wed Apr 15    Ceres

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It has no doubt made the rounds through the Myrrish camp that a goblin spy stole some information from one of the tents. That several adventurers, including Sunblade Darshan and Warmage Xander, chased the goblin down, only to confront an airship with a Sorceress of considerable skill, and a Maugrimite named Rimun. And that, upon confrontation with Darshan, said Maugrimite picked up his skirts and ran away like a little girl (according to one bardic witness). Not too long after, a new song started to circulate throughout the Myrrish camp.

There were several adventurers searching far

they came out brave and boldly-o

And one sang high, and one strode low

and the others sang a challenge-o

It was to the plains they went

well put in armour and weapons-o

And there was a cry from above their heads

As the airship did hover-o

It was late that night when 'Brave' Rimun arrived

to join the battle-o

And the sorceress, she said to the Lord

"He's finally arrived, better late than never-o!"

It would seem, first he rode East, and then he rode West.

He rode North and South, also

Until he came to a wide open plain

it was there that he spied his challenger-o

"Here I am, to do battle all

who dares stands before me, bravely-o?

Here is my sword, here is my armour

None can stand before me, for I am Brave Rimun!"

But challenger there was, Brother Darshan

Who roar'd and battled-o!

Not long was it, 'fore sword did break

And 'Brave' Rimun fled-o

So let this be a lesson told

And never let this song grow oldy-o

Brave Rimun surely wasn't

And couldn't hold his weapon-o!

 (OOCly, this song is strongly (and alas, probably not correctly) based of Raggle Taggle Gypsy by Tempest)

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GAME: Ceres rolls Perform: (15)+11: 26

As Ceres begins to sing her song, the men laugh riotously at the tale of the 'brave' sir Rimun, who ran away at the faintest sign of danger from his enemies (of which there are no doubt many!) they all begin to laugh over Atar's own song. Atar? Looks aggrivated about this! He hops up onto the bar to get even higher than her, does a little prancing flip, and begins to sing even LOUDER, putting his lute skills to the test!

GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+10: (12)+10: 22

 

He's *nearly* as good as Ceres. Nearly. But he's lagging behind for the moment!

Carmina starts to slide low in her chair. "This isn't happening. Kinnevack has possessed him," she whispers, deep in denial.

"Do you really think so, Moonflower?" Chandra is now giving Atar a very serious look over, her brows knit deeply. "I see no marks of evil upon him." Other then the prancing.

Darshan lets go of the man he'd had hold of, and a grin grows there. A grin with pointed teeth, held in reptilian jaws under a metal helm. A not very nice grin. A grin surely, in Alexandria, he'd be doing penance for having. And so he starts to cheer on Ceres. The man next to him takes the moment to slip away, his eye having been caught by one of the female soldiers, and makes his way over there, the Altheans forgotten.

Dorian was surprised to walk into a ruckus scene, thinking that this place would be no different from the outside camp grounds. The music is what he found his refuge, if he could just listen to the music, and drown out the rest of the noise, he could sip his drink in peace. There was still one problem. Some guy was singing on the bar, and the crowd around him blocked any hope of getting to the bar and ordering a drink. That wouldn't stop Dorian though, as he moved towards the bar, trying to slip between the people of the crowd.

Karelin speaks quietly, sitting up to shield Carmina a bit. "Its not your fault, he's just half of your parentage." A glance to Chandra. "Well enough, I think. They have much to learn, though." A pause. "Of course."

He's /on/ the bar. Well, that can't be allowed. With the help of no-doubt offered hands, Ceres ends up on the bar itself, as she starts in on the next set of verses, not that it is an incredibly long song. And hey. At least she knows what direction the top of the bar is.

"Oh yes, it is comforting to know that I must take after my mother," Carmina says, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass. "Elves," she says, self conciously pulling her hair over her big ears.

"As I am comforted to have taken after my Father, Moonflower, my mother is even more delicate then Atar." Chandra drinks down some of her ale. "And not all elves have that failing, Lady Sandiel isn't like any of those flowery types."

GAME: Ceres rolls Perform: (13)+11: 24

now two people were singing at the bar. He finally made it, but there was still something obscructing him from getting a drink. The bartender was very busy, and it was difficult to project his voice over the noise of the crowd and the music so that the bartender would hear. After some time of waving his arms and yelling for a drink, Dorian gave up. He made his way to a less crowded location of the establishment, and spotted a somewhat familiar face, someone he had met in Alexandria. He walked up to Djordo and said "Greetings, friend."

GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+10: (12)+10: 22

Atar is not happy about this. At all. When he sees Ceres horning in on his position on the bar, he begins to dance harder and harder and stomps his feet all over it and then he hits a slick spot.

 He slides! He flies off the bar! He crashes directly on to Carmina's table, sending all the drinks flying.

As alcohol and glass flies toward her, Carmina's brow furrows. As she's actually /hit/ with those things, she balls up her fists. Then, looking down, she notices something - her map, dripping with whiskey. She gets up and marches outside.

And he--Darshan's abruptly hitting his chest and choking as he coughs, where erstwhile he was cheering. It's now coughing, /of course/ it's coughing, and he drops a hand on a server's shoulder, half to catch the man, half to support himself. And coughs soe more. "Ssss...gods. A drink. Mrm, that...water, yes. And someone fetch the Altheans." The man he'd sent earlier stands, redfaced and leaning on a table, regaling the soldier-woman he'd cornered with tales of bravery...and the woman looks too ready to laugh. Poor fellow.

Karelin jumps back from his table, wincing as he loses his whiskey to Atar's fall. He scowls, and casually knocking part of the table over Atar, then looks back. "We're going to need more whiskey here."

Its like Chandra saw that coming. She reaches for the bottle of whiskey and her own glass of ale, collecting them. Before moving effortlessly to her feet in time with the elf's landing. "Gods, Atar, you are more dangerous to us then any goblin.."

Djordo is suprised to hear someone talking to him, and turns about. "Ah, hello there. Seems you've taken up the charge as well, eh? Interesting night here," he says, taking a seat at the opposite end of the room from when he started, as a drink crashed down next to him. "Few people I happen to know, though."

That gut that was singing started to dance, and Dorian just found the sight of it to be pretty funny. When the guy fell, Dorian ponderd for a moment, and caught a drink that was knocked off of the table just before it hit the floor. He started to crack up laughing and gave Djordo a cheers.

And that would be why Ceres is just standing and singing, not trying to do anything fancy on her new perch. There is a wince, and a brief look of concern, but honestly, the show must go on! After all, she did promise. And so, she finishes off her song, keeping one eye on that crashed table.

Atar has had the wind knocked out of him, that's for sure. He's also being laughed at. Some, given his attire, think he did it intentionally. Never the less, as Carmina rushes out, Atar manages to stumble after her. "DArling!" He calls out. "Don't go!'

Carmina pulls the door shut behind her, slamming it in Atar's face. A shrill scream follows.

Darshan's coughing fit increases--he hits his chest a second time before making his way over towards the bard-perch. "Gods. I hope he hears it," he says quietly to Ceres as he watches the father-daughter drama at the door. "...and one mrm, hopes the Altheans get here, soon." Of course, there's more than one reason he's standing near the other elf. Atar might, you know. Try to...oh, who in hell knows what Atar might do.

Whirlpool has disconnected.

Whirlpool has connected.

"We should check out that scream.." Chandra suggests, still holding the bottle of whiskey.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* The Blushing Rosalia *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

   The Blushing Rosalia is a small, fairly nondescript tavern with the requisite two stories--rooms on the top floor, a common room with a fireplace, kitchen, and a couple of small meeting rooms on the ground floor. Neither food nor accommodation is particularly spectacular, but the food is better than what's being served out in the camp and the straw mattresses are better than uneven ground.

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 Carmina         Short, slender, blond half-elf in wizard attire.      2m   2h

 Karelin         Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.      4s   3h

 Chandrakanta    Dredlocked Veyshanti Averite with ink and blades.     1m   4h

 Dorian          A human male in simple clothing and a cloak.          24m  1h

 Djordo          Ruddy Tsurai fellow in oddly mixed linens and hide.   22m  2h

 Darshan         Darkly scaled sith in blacksmith's clothes and iron   0s   3h

 Whirlpool                                                             47s  13m

 Ceres           Silver-haired elf, tall and extremely graceful        3m   3h

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Myrrish Camp <MC>         

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It's like a classic ballad! Carmina ran outside! Her father chases her trying to catch her!

 Only in the ballads, they don't fall face first into a muddy ditch that has been dug like Atar does. 

 Meanwhile, in the interior, the entire inn has joined into the song of Brave Ramun has ran away, bravely ran away, away..

Bannon has arrived.

Carmina's too upset to even find this funny - she's standing outside, screaming, and there's an elf in a muddy ditch. When he fell, he sprayed her with mud.

Chandrakanta heads out the door of the pub to go after the shrieking half-elf, just in time to see Atar go splat. "As I said, more dangerous then goblins." She hands Carmina the bottle of whiskey she rescued from the table that Atar earlier crashed upon in his attempt at bartop dancing.

Ceres concludes the song with everyone finishing up with her, and once done, hops off the bar, no doubt to the relief of the barkeep. "... did I do something to upset them?" she then asks in general.

Karelin looks towards Chandra. "Good catch on the booze." He follows, if only to stay close to the whiskey bottle. He peers at Carmina, then considers Atar. He asks Chandra in an inside voice: "Can't we just put him on the roof like a weather vane?"

"...no," after a time. "Mrm...Carmina and her father have never gotten along. ...family issues," he says, filing it under that, and reaches for a drink, himself. There's no whisky in this one. "Usually he sings, or tries to hug her, or declares his love...mrm. One sees little harm in it, except things tend to...happen. Usually, he's in the charge of the Altheans." The sith reaches for another drink, and passes it up to the elf, Ceres, on the bartop. She'd recently been performing. So had Atar, but well. Atar's performance sort of speaks for itself.

Dorian sits at the table sipping his drink. He rolls up a cigarette when he is about to light it, he hands it over to give to Djordo, in case he would like a smoke..."There you go."

Carmina takes the offered bottle of whiskey, then calmly steps over Atar and makes her way back inside.

"Well, we all knew it meant doom as soon as the elf got on the bar, I figured I'd score points by rescuing the drink, we will certainly need it." Chandra gives Karelin a head shake, "Only if you plan on stripping him down and put him into something more suitable for a weather vane.."

Djordo sits cross-armed against the table, having relocated here closer to the bar, leaving his bag of medicine off near the entrance. He still looks sour, and his voice betrays his annoyance, and he puts a hand up to pardon himself from the smoking, standing, and speaking in guarded tones towards Ceres and Darshan. "Yes, though I would counsul people not to be so quick to shut others out. There are those that would gladly be amongst family again, were it possible, even if they acted a bit foolish. I know little of their past, but verbal daggers were what I got for trying to make something interesting of it."

Karelin ahhs. "Catapult." He nods to Chandra, "Its good that you saved the bottle. I'd hate to think of what'd have happened to the whiskey if he'd broken the bottle with his fall."

Ceres ahs, and gratefully takes the drink, once feet are both on the ground, and she has the chance to help hold up the bar. "He is quite the accomplished lutist. I shall have to take the opportunity to listen to him another time. I did, after all, upstage his performance, slightly." Not that she is too concerned about that.

Darshan looks over at the small group, and back again. "Mrm. It's a sore issue. Her father's effectively in a...he is watched, continually. It is a point of embarrassment?" the sith explains, but not having the words to say 'mental institution.' "I wouldn't think much of it. It's likely he escaped as the healers were busy...though I'm surprised to see him, here." The tail flickers, uncurls.

"Carmina! I know I didn't teach you to sing like that! Stop!" The Muddy Atar has pulled himself up out of the ditch, shooing off what appear to be some startled goblins. "What are you doing down here?! Get away!"

 The goblins flee.

 Wait, goblins? In a trench?

 Near the Myrrish Camp?

 "Stop right there," yells a guardsman, "Bludgunners," yells another!

 The camp promptly goes on alert.

 Oh, Carmina's day just got SO much better.

The clack-clack of horses hooves proceed Bannon by no more then fifteen seconds as it only takes him that long to dismount, hitch his horse and walk in. As he enters the Blushing Rosalia, he takes one long look around and then catches the attention of the serving girl, "Excuse me. Can I get three shots of whiskey please?" He then blinks, "Nevermind."

"After them!" Chandra sees the goblins running away. "Bludguni.." Echoing the guardsmen, she begins to break into a run. Reaching for something in one of they myriad of pockets she has.

"Mrm...yes. And she is a mage, a creature prized for their mental..." words, "sharpness. If she were an artificer, they'd almost say it was...expected," wry. "So his mrm, performances? are a smirch on her personal honor." He replaces the water on the counter. And then looks over with a sort of slow surprise. Atar, yelling? Well that isn't...

Goblins.

"Well...mrm. Let's hope they're Maugrim's." Because that would make them tasty little, delicious, good-for-you nuggets.

As the goblins realize they've been spotted, one of them says, very calmly, "Well, there goes three months of work. I TOLD you to dig another fifty feet!"

 "Shut up!"

 And then they split, aiming to run in every direction they can. Might as well try, right?

Carmina turns around, eyes narrowing. "Oh.." she says, thoughtfully. Then, saying a few magic words and waving her hands about in the air, tentacles spring out of the ground. The half-elf's day brightens, just a touch, as three of the goblins are caught in the tentacles. "Mind the tentacles," she warns.

Dorian drops the cigarette being distracted by the calls of 'bloodgunners' He's got his pack handy and he gets up, bow in hand. He starts moving, but stays with his bow at his side, not wanting to stand out as he tries to gather the situation.

"Ah, I see. So I should not apologize for ruining her father's performance, then..." Ceres comments, before looking up at all the commotion. "Do you think they enjoyed the performance?" she asks the sith'maker.

Karelin has reconnected.

Karelin has partially disconnected.

Bannon turns from the serving girl to run back out the door. He takes a quick look around and calls out, "Where are they?!" He then turns, unhitching his horse and then climbing up into the saddle. He settles his helmet on his head and lifts the shield from its hook on the saddle. He grabs the lance leaning next to the hitching post a moment later, tucking it under his arm and turning his horse with the press of a knee.

"One has no doubt," the sith says, eyeing the doorway. "And mrm, one has little doubt you've mrm, earned a finale. The...'Ballad of the Goblins?'" he suggests, moving towards the doorway to poke his head out of it. He doesn't move that fast, this sith'makar. Armor slows, draws on limb, but it's as natural a thing as sunning under the noonday sphere.

Karelin starts outside, a little slow, since he stopped to put the whiskey bottle on the bar first. Then he starts after, in the second wave, so to speak.

The Veyshanti gets what she was looking for out of her pocket, just in time to run into and get the goblin quite covered in the tanglefoot bag. That is one way to slow the enemy down. Chandra is about as careful with him as a bull in a china shop.

"Augh," yelps the goblin as Chandra gets him. He can't really get away. The three in teh tentacles wail like, well.. goblins. They're not happy. And being squished by huge, black tentacles doesn't really make anyone happy.

 That leaves one last one running away at breakneck pace, trying to dodge the variosu efforts to grab him.

"Ballad of the Goblins? Hm... that sounds promising. What rhymes with sit...?" Ceres muses, following out with the others, though not yet making with the trying to stop the goblins.

"'The Goblins and the--" smell, "--Latrine,' maybe?" after a few more moments. "And mrm, pit. ...pit rhymes with sit," the voice trails off with distracted thought, and Darshan looks over towards the side. A great, tall lizard comes bounding his way on its two legs. It doesn't take too long, and before too long she's nuzzling at the change purse again. Mrm. Coppers.

Djordo is already outside, curved sword drawn--but it isn't until he sees the last goblin run off for the woods that the fellow has something to offer. With a flourish he draws back his sleeves and casts off his hat, pausing to mutter some garbled phrasing, drawing up on his tiptoes, hands raised to eye level, before dropping to a crouch and slamming his palms into the mud--grass coiling around his wrists as twigs, weeds, and small saplings whip about the feet of the escaping gobbo and all there nearby. "It seems that rabbit has found a snare! And some of us have well. Entanglement--someone get a bag on him."

Now up close and personal Chandra gets a whiff of the gobbo she's tangling with. "Ugh!" She exclaims. Her clothing coated with the filth. She struggles to get to her feet, while keeping the Goblin pinned to the ground by standing on him. Its not the kindest thing, but these are enemies after all.

As soon as Dorian has a goblin in sight he loads an arrow into his wooden longbow. With a quick and swift motion, he aims and lets the arrow fly at the goblin target.

Karelin stalks out, drawing his warblade as he goes. He steps over to Chandra. "Kick it in the head? Or do you want me to do the honours?"

"GRK," several people trying to get him are also hit by it, but really, he's stuck in place now in the thorny roots and so on and so forth. "..augh," he yelps. "Help! Help!" Now you see the violence inherrent in the system. "Ahhh!" He squeals.

 So, Carmina got three, Chandra got one, and Djordo got one. Well, kind of. At least until someone gets through the roots to actually get him.

"We should question him." Chandra looks to the Korite, "got some rope, maybe we can fashion something for around his throat." Since the rest of him is covered in the stickiness of the tanglefoot bag.

Ceres has disconnected.

Ceres has connected.

Darshan looks at Srassha. Srassha looks at Darshan. 'You /owe/ me for this, lizard,' the look seems to say. The swift slinks that way, and...damn. She takes her time about it. When she does get to the tangleroots, it's to lean forward, and...pick the gobber up by his filthy shirt in her teeth. He so owes her.

"...auuggh!" Unfortuntely, he still tastes like latrine. At least it probably doesn't bother the Swiftclaw much. 

 "Urk!" "Awk!" "Gyargh," the three in Carmina's tentacles yell.

 "Wow, great job," says one of the watchmen as he approaches to Atar. "You ferreted 'em right out. Three cheers for...Atar, wasn't it?"

 "Hip hip, hooray!" Several people lift the elf up on their shoulders and...carry him away.

Atar is bewildered, but more than happy to be told he's awesome.

Karelin checks his backpack, then goes hunting for the rope. "Fine. You sure you don't want to punch it?" He grins, and pulls out the rope, and starts to bind the filthy thing.

Carmina lifts the bottle of whiskey to her lips and takes a long pull. "At least he will be too preoccupied to find me a husband," she comments to Karelin and Chandra.

Dorian followed the path of his arrow with his eyes, to see it hit the goblin with perfect accuracy. He also saw the small creature become entangled with some sort of vines from the earth, and he saw Djordo, had been casting some sort of spell '...using, nature magic?' He loaded another arrow and started moving out closer to the action, keeping the known targets in sight and looking alert for new ones.

Darshan looks at his swift, and she looks back at him. And gives a...reptilian shrug before trudging back with the small but filthy creature. "Mrm. Belongs to whomever cast that," he says with a jab at the tangle of vines. Let's keep it here a while, see if someone comes to claim the bounty on him." Then, "You smell," at the goblin. And water abruptly pours down over the creature's head.

"You should just marry Engels, no more pressure from Atar." Chandra keeps standing on the goblin's back, stepping around a bit to make him extra uncomfortable, "If you want, you can punch him." Seems she is saving the ultraviolence to something that is actually difficult to capture. She lifts her hand, sniffing it, and making a face, "Ugh, I am going to need to burn my clothing to get this smell out."

Karelin glances towards Carmina, chuckling. "Army mascot should." He keeps tying up the goblin, using the sticky goop to keep binding the goblin. "This smell? It'd make my fist smell."

Darshan goes OOC.