After two game sessions at The Lost Dice, we decided to try the facilities at Tabletop Warfare on Prospect Road for our third gathering. They have some rooms put aside for roleplaying games and the promise was that they would be quieter since we were able to actually shut the door!

The rooms were simply phenomenal. Each were decorated with a different theme – a dungeon cell, a tavern, and a Victorian parlour. Each had two monitors and a sound system to plug a laptop into. One monitor is embedded in the table so that you could run combat encounters on it. Stunning. Here are some photos (click to biggify).

And yes, it was quiet (and air-conditioned). But stupid-me left his folder of A3 laminated maps behind though, never to be seen again.

But enough gushing…

Through the Gates of Merridale

Sariel strode through the gates, ignoring the guards’ lingering looks. The rest of the party hurried to catch up, heading along Market Street towards their destination, the Red Rock Tavern. The upper stories of the timber-framed houses overhung the street, casting long shadows as the sun sank slowly behind the shingle rooftops. Pairs of guards stood on every street corner, holding torches to keep the shadows at bay. Townsfolk hurried home, shuttering their windows. Few paused to stare at the strange group of companions striding down the street. None made eye contact.

The town square showed signs of preparations ahead of tomorrow’s market day, but the square was strangely empty of people. Fear of the Night Shades perhaps. Or perhaps it was the disquieting way in which the noose on a freshly-built gallows was swinging in the wind. Hardly a pleasant site for the market-goers in the morning.

Samira gasped as she saw the smashed windows of Azim’s Emporium of Wonders. The shop looked like it has been ransacked. Memories of her childhood rose unbidden and a sudden wave of sadness swept over her. Samira grew up in Merridale falls and knew Azim and his shelves filled with many-coloured bottles, holding tinctures, lotions, poultices and potions.

The Red Rock Tavern was named after the enormous granite boulder that lay embedded in the road. The townsfolk seemed accustomed to it, navigating their wagons and hand carts around it without even looking up, but to the visitors it was a strange sight. Someone had painted a crude eye symbol on it – recently. Looking around at the nearby buildings, similar symbols were carved into the wooden lintels or painted on the walls.

The party made their way inside, with the wind flinging the door open suddenly. A voice yelled loudly across the room “Shut the bloody door!” The scowl on the face of the bartender was enough – not a woman to trifle with.

The room was filled with visitors for the town market on the morrow. A group of merchants rose from their table and headed off towards the guestrooms, so the party quickly grabbed their table and ordered a meal. Rover curled up near the fire. The other guests threw suspicious glances at the group, and the word ‘dwarf’ was muttered in conversations around the room.

A well-dressed hobbit wandered over to the group. “Will you look at this belt?” he said, holding a finely-crafted leather belt, too small for anyone but a child or a halfling. “I just bought it from the local tanner, can’t remember his name. Gerrard or something. Excellent workmanship.”

Apparently unaware that the room had gone silent, he looked at Perris and said “Oh excuse me, Kendo Underhill, at your service. My bride-to-be is over there scowling at me,” he said, gesturing for her to come over. “I don’t believe there’s been a dwarf in these parts for many years, but I could be wrong. I don’t actually live here so I’m only going on the tales I’ve heard. I’m a bard you see and I like to collect stories.”

“Have you heard about the Nightshades?” he asked brightly. “I reckon I saw one last night. Huge it was, towering over me.”
“Everything towers over you Kendo.” A young hobbit lady climbed up onto the bench seat and smiled at the group. “Good evening. Call me Torrentine. Don’t let this fool frighten you. He loves to exaggerate.”
“Aye, well, I know what I saw. Or didn’t see. It was very dark, ‘blacker than black’ you could say. Not like any ghost I’ve ever seen before. And it vanished into the shadows quicker than a blink of an eye!”
Torrentine looked skeptical. “Then it probably was a shadow. And you’ve not seen any ghosts before either.”

A large man stepped out of the kitchen and nodded to the bartender, who then called out “Sun’s a-setting good folks. Time to be indoors. My brother Kamiran is about to lock up, so sup up now and be on yer way. Keep to the light and don’t tarry. Watch the shadows.”

Night Falls

As the locals hurried home and the house guests began to retreat to their rooms, Kamiran went from window to window, closing and barring the shutters. He refilled the numerous oil lamps and lit them, bathing the room in light. Rover barely stirred when Kamiran took up a chair and sat by the fire, a broad-bladed axe resting across his knees.

Sariel spied an attractive sword mounted above the bar – its silvered blade reflecting the lamp light. Thuramarsh followed her gaze and suggested she “keep her hands in her pockets.” The risk of getting caught stealing in an enemy-occupied village was too great.

Rover and Sariel stayed by the fire while the rest of the party went to their rooms.

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