Anyway, the party takes the tunnels back to town and their travel back is uneventful. They make it back to the beginning of the tunnel.
Calethen attempts to climb the ladder. His first attempt is a complete disaster, he falls, hits his head, and lands in the water with a big splash.
Jozan also does not make it up the ladder, though his attempt is not as disastrous, he falls as well.
Trafire clambers it up the ladder without too much difficulty, however, when she attempts to push up the cover, she fails, but does not fall.
Siber climbs up the ladder quickly and with ease. However, when he attempts to push up the cover, not only does he fail, but he falls to the bottom.
Xav makes it up the ladder laboriously. When he attempts to push off the cover, he falls.
Soul deftly makes it up the ladder with no problems. However, he fails to open the cover.
Zingnoff clambers up the ladder with slight difficulty. With extreme difficulty and a few close calls where he almost fell, Zingnoff pushes the cover off of the tunnel and exits. The rest of the party follows.
Now you've made it back to Winterbrook! It's about midnight, and nobody is out, but what will you do?
I'm assuming that you want to rent 1 bed for the night(1 for both of you), and she wants to rent 3...1 for her, 1 for you, and 1 for her to hide your body under.
I'm assuming that you want to rent 1 bed for the night(1 for both of you), and she wants to rent 3...1 for her, 1 for you, and 1 for her to hide your body under.
Well preferrably i'd rather get the ritual out of the way first so it is not 'interrupted' by the town militia on reports of horrible smells.
Xav and Trafire head to the Flickerflame Inn, accompanied by Otihand. They enter the Flickerflame through its creaking wooden doors. Above the inn itself is a large wooden sign with a faded painting of a small cusp of fire, which is ironic, because it looks like the slightest spark could reduce the entire inn to a pile of ashes. Below the painting of fire are painted, peeling letters that read "T e F ick r Fl m Inn." You are greeted by a tan but lanky human with messy straw-colored hair and a five-o-clock shadow wearing a set of dirty leather clothes. "Hello," he says, in a strangely high-pitched voice, extending his hand. "Me name's Olfire Mandolson, and I'm the ownah and proprietah of this here inn. What cin aiee help ja wif?"
"Errmm..." Olfire rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Not ter be rude or judge ye or nuffin, bet a lady sich as yerself might wanna try the Golden Grain Inn, 'stead o' this place."
