Kith has leather armor.  Per my earlier comment, that's one round with help, two alone.

I am envious of you, Roger! 

Also - I need to game with my boys some more.

A half night?  Really only a third of one, I'd say...

No worries, Blackthorn.  We gt that real life happens.  Just make your way back.  If I need to bump little spots like this to keep the game going, I will.

I was getting worried there, Blackthorn!

If we need to edit my post of how the evening ended, just let me know. 

Nobody here wants to see your "inner bard", okay???

Egad.  Why would it not be the responsibility of the storyteller to keep the story straight?

Why is it so alien to make your own story - especially one that features the players as the protaginists in a long arc?

Oi.

Sounds like a business opportunity to me!

Well, redact my breastplate statement.

But I'm still seeing two rounds.

That is a freaking cool idea.  No way I can do it when my wife is home, though... she would skin me. 

that's a good one, Brom.  Let me look into it.

Per the PHB it's one round for leather armor, two for chain - if you have help.  Double that with no help. 

Ch'dau's breastplate would be one round, another for the bracers.

So... assuming that most/all of you plan to rush downstairs, what exactly does "rush" entail?

People typically do not sleep in armor, especially when enjoying the safety of an Inn behind town walls.  Are ya'll armoring up before you go downstairs?

Ayrn, that should be doable.

12th Sempore (Fallday), 453 E.R.
The Nicked Shill Inn, village of Crandel

An hour or two after midnight, Ch'dau is the first to be awoken by a banging noise from downstairs. Less than a minute later, Kithran - in her room - is awoken by the same. Then, there is a scream.

The others quickly awaken. There are fearful voices downstairs, and the banging continues - as if someone is trying to force their way into the inn.

Aranwen is the last to awaken - naked and alone in Davena's room. There is no sign, however, of the blonde woman or her possessions - or of Garn, for that matter.

We are at a week since Aranwen's last post.  I figured that it was reasonable to expect him to go along with the events in my post; if that is not the case, then you can tell me otherwise and we can edit.  In the interest of furthering the story, however, I have posted.  Another post is coming.

It appears that once Aranwen changes the subject, Davena is suffiently mollified.  The bladesinger's tales - and the glasses of wine - seem to serve to relax the blonde woman, who asks quite a few very insightful, intelligent questions.  Whatever her other interests may be, it is clear that she is telling the truth regarding her academic interests.  As the conversation wears on, Davena's body language shows more and more physical interest in Aranwen.

Eventually, Davena kills a glass of wine - her fourth(?) of the evening - before placing her soft, warm hand atop Aranwen's. "I have some texts in my room," she speaks, double meaning doing a poor job of hiding between every word, "and I would like your thoughts on them. Perhaps, lady, I could persuade you to come and give them a detailed inspection?"

As well spoken as she is, the woman likely does have some sort of historical texts in her room, but even the most obtuse can recognize the actual invitation being offered.

OOC: assuming a positive response by Aranwen...

A sly smile spreads across the blonde woman's face as she takes Aranwen's hand and stands. She looks around the table. "If you will excuse us," she speaks.

Davena and Aranwen take a few steps before Garn catches up to them. The couple stops, and the woman shakes her head slightly. The bodyguard leans in close, a fierce expression on his face, and he whispers something to her.

Davena's blue eyes flash with fiery anger, and she hisses a retort easily loud enough for everyone to hear. "Mind your place, Garn Kargest! Who I share my bed with is my business, and no one else's! Leave me now!"

Garn's shoulders slump and his cheeks burn crimson. The warrior spins on his heel, ignores the others at the table, and stalks off towards the bar in apparent search of something stronger than ale.

As he leaves, the blond woman's cheeks color slightly with embarrassment, but the anger evaporates as she flashes a sheepish smile to the table. Then, she and the bladesinger head toward the stair, hand in hand.

**************************************

Upstairs, Davena leads the sylvari warrior into her room and closes the door. She turns to face her and cocks her head to one side. "As for the texts... I would love to peruse these with you, but there are other matters I would rather attend to first."

With that, most of her clothing falls to the ground.

She takes a step towards the bladesinger, a crooked grin on her face. The term "exquisite" would not be out of place when describing her body, though a portion of Aranwen's brain does idly note that the silvered scars from her face continue down her neck, across her chest, and down to her belly; however, the scars easily appear in their greatest concentration upon both of her breasts, centered around the nipples. It is clear that some years ago, this beautiful creature must have endured some sort of unspeakable torture. Be that as it may, she seems to not be self conscious in the slightest; she stands straight and tall, her natural assets proudly on display as her gaze fixes the warrior.

As the rest of her clothing falls to the ground and she advances further, Aranwen discovers that most of the blood seems to have been diverted from his brain, causing deep analysis to become impossible. Her own clothing falls away, Davena's warm, soft body embraces her, and for a time, conscious thought becomes astoundingly unimportant.

Blackthorn, I need a post from you to move forward.  Or I can assume...

I'll post a couple more times.  Haha, there will be a court martial. 

Hey folks,

Rather than blow by blow everything, I felt like a narrative approach was better.  I hope that I dropped enough nuggests there to allow you creative folks the opportunity to fill in around them, to share as much as you would like on what led us to the point of my post.  If you have questions or want me to help with details, feel free to post here - or shoot me a PM. 

Stardate 2365.02.11
Gamera Spaceport, Auditorium A  - 14:12

Silas sat at the center of three tables arranged in an open "U" shape on a raised dias; the Kuldar delegation was seated to his left, with the Rytain to his right.  Rows of seats in curved aisles faced the dais, with each row farther back slightly elevated above the row on front so as to give clear sight lines to the central stage area.  Tochi Zai was in the chair immediately to his right; Bethany Farr sat to his left, her face anxious.  All but two of the security personnel from the Peregrine stood watch around the auditorium or in the corridors outside.  The full compliments of the diplomatic teams from the two opposing sides were present - along with a few governmental officials and the like - though several empty chairs at the Rytain table were telling.

So far, it had been bedlam.  Each side accused the other of all sorts of crimes; insults and threats flew through the air unabated.  Among the most vociforous was ambassador Threel, who gleefully levied every accusation under the sun.  Drake found himself wishing that he had let the battle take place, and instead flown his ship in literally any other direction - perhaps even into the center of the Gamera star.  He had expected grandstanding and posturing, but this was entirely intolerable.

The PADD on the table in front of Drake flashed with an update, and the Captain turned his attention to it, eager for any distraction.  After a few moments, however, his visage turned dark and he rose to his feet.

"Excuse me, esteemed dignitaries..." he began, but the debate had devolved to shouting, and he was ignored.  Silas loudly cleared his throat. 

"Pardon me, but I would like..." he tried again, to no better effect.

His jaw set, Silas straightened his back, drew in a breath, and bellowed from his diaphragm.  "SIT DOWN AND SHUT YOUR MOUTHS!"

Gasps rose from around the room, but a hush fell over the auditorium and almost everyone on the dais complied. 

"What is the meaning of this, Commander Drake?" sneered Ambassador Threel in response.  "We are no longer aboard your vessel, you lack the authority to..."

"BELAY THAT!" Drake roared in interruption. "Ambassador Threel, you will be silent and remove yourself from these proceedings!  I have had enough of your obstructionism.  These talks will continue with another member of you government taking your place."

The Rytain official blanched for a moment, before chuckling.  "You have no standing here, you cannot..."

"I said, BE QUIET!" Silas roared.  The Peregrine's CO held up his PADD, keyed it, and the contents were simulcast to the holographic displays.  "You will all note the report here by Lieutenant Reid.  We did, in fact, recover five survivors from the Stormspike.  Four committed suicide, but the fifth is sedated in our sickbay.  All five - as well as another eleven dead aboard the Stormspike - are Rytainian citizens."  Drake paused as titters echoed through the chamber.  "You will further note the transmission logs recovered from the Stormspike, with coded messages sent back and forth to Ambassador Threel aboard my ship.  You, sir," the Captain continued with a finger pointed at the Rytainian, "have aided and abetted terrorists to kill your own people for the purpose of subverting these peace talks."

Silas took a deep breath as a deep hush fell over the auditorium.  "Petty officer," he ordered one of the secuirty personnel, "remove the Ambassador from these proceedings and hold him until his own government takes charge of him."

Threel protested the validity of the charges, as well as the right to arrest him in such a situation.  "You are but a Commander!" he shouted.  "You have no authority over the ranking diplomat of a foreign power in such a negotiation!  You cannot touch me, I..."

"You are incorrect," Silas interrupted flatly.  "As the commanding officer of this battle group, I am in charge of all Federation interests in this system.  As we are absent a diplomat, according to Starfleet regulations, I have complete plenipotentiary powers when it comes to contact with foreign governments.  Make no mistake, Ambassador - my word here is, in fact, Federation law.  You have acted against Federation interests, colluded to damage a Federation starship, and endangered the lives of Federation personnel.  As a threat to operational security, you have no diplomatic immunity, and I hereby place you under arrest."

Petty Officer Brady stepped to remove Threel, and bedlam erupted again.  There was shouting, and gesturing, and general chaos befitting a mob more than a displomatic assembly.  The Kuldar were well into the process of storming out, accusing the Rytain government of bad faith.  The Rytain acted is if they might resist the arrest.  Silas took another deep breath. 

"BE SILENT, THE LOT OF YOU!" he bellowed.  "We came here to negotiate a peace, and that is what we will do!"

"Surely, you cannot expect us to speak when they have betrayed the peace so?" Demanded a Kuldarian attache.  "And beyond that, you cannot force us to actually negotiate..."

"I can, and I will!" Drake asserted.  "The Rytainian government is not behind this - we have listed to their transmissions.  They believed this to be an attack by the Kuldar.  This is a hate group here that wishes to see peace fail.  If you walk away from these talks now, they succeed."

For a brief moment, Silas saw the smallest flicker.  "Why do your two peoples fight?" he continued.  "Can any of you even remember?  I have studied your texts - I see no root cause for this war.  I see two neighbors who fight because they have always fought, over some petty squabble no one can recall!  How many more of your children will grow up as orphans - or not grow up at all - merely because the two of you cannot move beyond how it has always been between you?"

It was an opening.  Not a large one, but it was in fact there - and Drake took it.  He hammered ahead, threatening, cajoling, prodding both sides. 

Somehow, some way... it was enough.  The details took hours.  It was a lengthy, torturous process... but at long last, an accord was ratified by all three parties.

All hostilities between the Kuldar and Rytain were ceased.  A framework for peace that both sides could live with - if not necessarily celebrate - was hammered out.  The Federation gained access to the dilithium - at the price of some extensive promises for advanced replicator and medical technology from the Federation. Silas was fairly sure those concessions would earn him a reprimand at the very least, but in the face of his looming court martial, he could not seem to summon forth the energy to care. 

The various representatives posed for the holovids, made a show of signing their names to the various documents, and peace was officially established - even if that peace had come under varying degrees of threats of violence.

**************************************************************

When it was over, Silas found himself numbly wandering the corridor back towards his ship.  The thought occured to him that this would be his legacy; a peace treaty between two backwater worlds. 

But even as he did his best to mnimize the accomplishment, he could see Michelle's face, almost feel her disapproving stare.  She would have pointed out that it didn't matter how big the empires were - the fact was that his efforts, and the efforts of his crew, had spared lives from the potential battle today, and from preventing potential battles in the future. 

If his legacy was that even one person - let alone hundreds, perhaps thousands - would have the chance to live a full life that might not have otherwise had that chance... wasn't today worth it?

At that moment, he came across a viewport with an almost perfectly unobstructed view of the Peregrine, and the Captain was grabbed by a bitter melancholy as it hit him that he would never again lay eyes again on his ship that he could call his own.  Jacobs wouldn't even have to make an effort to see to that - the computer logs of his actions this day would be far more than enough. 

Ah, well.  Perhaps he would get a penal colony cell with a nice view. 

"Hooonnneeeyyyyy.... my elf has to get his freak on!  Can't it wait?" 

Please note that due to completely ghosting us, GrinNoCat has been removed from this game.  Ayrn has expressed interest, and will be assuming he character of Midge.  However, he will be making some edits to the character - expect some details to be retconned. 

Since Midge has had very little interaction with the group, I don't see this as an issue in the slightest.

I'm enjoying the Blackthorn posts a lot - we're just RPing the situation is all. 

The halfling sorceror found himself more or less alone with his own thoughts.  Neither Atharis nor Cedric seemed perticularly communicative, and Midge had long since learned that this was the default behavior for Kith.  As the bustle returned to the Inn, Midge elected to focus more on the ale - which wasn't half bad.  Not great, but not bad.

Aranwen did provide somewhat of a diversion.  While Midge was no expert in sigie mating rituals, the blonde human woman did seem to be all but waving her smallclothes in the sylavri's face, but for some reason, she seemed more interested in worrying at the reasons behind her and her bodyguard having not been attacked - much like a hairy hound with a soup bone, she simply seemed unable to leave it alone.  She ignored it for a time, but it did seem to eventually rub her the wrong way, as it were, and the bladseinger finally seemed to realize it.

"I apologise, my lady. I did not mean to imply that I wished you any harm, or that you were somehow responsible for those attacks. I am merely puzzled, and trying to figure out the purpose of these events. I fear for the residents of this town and the surrounding areas, for surely they have not seen the last of these attacks." she offered by way of apology and explanation.

Midge snorted into his fourth mug as Aranwen tried desperately to extricate her foot from his mouth.  "Oriana's teats, woman! " the mage exclaimed.  "The lady wants you to tell her tales of your bravery and adventures.  So tell her some tales!"

He cut his eyes at Davena.  "You should have seen her with the bandits a fortnight ago.  Three of their swords against her one - but it was they who had no chance."  The cid catches Aranwen's gaze, then subtly leans his heard toward the blonde woman. 

Come on, woman!  he mentally admonishes the warrior. Take the opening!

Davena smiles self depreciatingly.  "I am no adventurer - I am a scholar.  I do have some business interests here and there, and yes, we are bound for Tenimere - as I said, I have a trade contact there.  There is much knowledge in the world that is handed down in story, but stories change over time; I prefer to document what I find.  Normally, I would administer my business from afar, but this contact seems to think that they have found something I might be interested in seeing in person, and I trust them enough to make the trip."  She pauses.

"Garn, here, is a solider in the employ of my family.  He is my sworn bodyguard, though he sometimes forgets his place." the last is spoken with a pointed look at the man, who snorts and takes another swig of ale. 

The blonde-haired begins to turn solemn.  "I cannot answer to you, mellon, why we were not accosted on the road.  Perhaps the larger group made more noise than the two of us; I truly cannot say.  To be honest, I am beginning to wonder... are you angry that we were safe, while others were not?  Are you blaming us for their troubles?  Are you suggesting that Garn and I are somehow responsible for what happened to those poor folk on the basis of us traveling the same road?"

As she speaks, Davena straightens, pulling away from Aranwen.