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[Rolepgeek]

((*edit: 'tries to'*))

((You should know better than to assume, Tawarochir))

((Especially with the saves he gets against magic))

"Tell me, Ulric, describe to me a day of your life, so that I might compare yours to mine, and see just how much harder you have it than me," Oso says, voice dripping with sarcasm as he enunciates each word carefully and slowly.

[Tawa]

((Actually, there is no saving throw for Arcane Mark.))

[Rolepgeek]

((Actually, there is no saving throw for Arcane Mark.))

((Yes but there is the saving throw called a reflex save to punch you in the face during the 3+ seconds it takes to inscribe it in someone's flesh))

((Plus the fact that with the need for verbal and somatic components, it's going to be really obvious you're about to do something, and it's just plain rude to mark someone's character like that without their permission))

[Tawa]

(( :/  Alright then. Bah, I'm holding up the game, I'll just warn him for now.))

[My Name is Immaterial]

The group's first sight of Cernan is the shine of his platinum scales, reflecting a light from above. The dragon-born shifted his pack, and sprinted the rest of the way to the group.
On his way, he was evaluating his new co-workers. A human, an elf, two half-orcs and... a strange hulking mass. Was that a troll? With a dwarf astride it? He shook his head. That couldn't be. All dwarves had beards, and no record of trolls involved them being ridden by dwarves. But as he approached, his initial beliefs were found to be correct, but he shrugged it off, and went to introduce himself.
"Sorry I'm late, chaps. Took me a little longer than I expected to arrive. You chaps all ready to go?"

((I was looking at the alignments: CN, CN, CN, CN, NG, LN, LG. I guess that means I'm that Paladin dick.))

[Tawa]

"My, my. Another adventurer to join us. I'm Ruvitsuvi the Red. It's a pleasure to meet you."

* Ruvitsuvi blows a smoke ring toward Cernan

[Flying Dice]

After several hours of travel up a paved road through heavily worked fields, the stone slabs give way to several smaller, thickly packed dirt tracks. You've not seen any signs of the almost perpetually present farmers for several minutes as you start up the fork which leads into the lightly forested foothills ahead. Small spires of dark rock rise up from the earth at seemingly random places, and not far ahead you can make out several tiers of small cliffs. A smooth-faced boulder sits beside the path, carved with angular letters, Blackthorn Mine.

As you round a bend in the path past a stand of weather-worn pines, you catch sight of an encampment of tents and buildings constructed of rough-cut grey stone. A wagon rumbles past your party, loaded down with piles of ore. A small watchtower rises from the near side of the camp from which a pair of archers watch you carefully. One hails you in meticulously enunciated Common, "That is quite far enough! I dislike the look of you; what business have you here?"

((Free game on RP during the walk [or ride, in one or two cases]. I'll be asleeeeep. Yawn.))

[PrivateNomad]

 "We come to help!"

[My Name is Immaterial]

"My companion tells it as it is, old chap. We're Irregulars, here to investigate some disappearances."

[Nerjin]

"Ho ho, you are a fiesty one, Farseer. I have to work too, you know. I have much nastier magic, though. Don't make me use it." Ruvitsuvi continues smoking. "You think that being a dwarf is hard? We elves have to cope with stereotypes of infuriatingly immaculate perfection, crazy cannibals ambushing people, and the problems of daily survival, just as you. Not to mention idiots like you."

"Oh yes. Work work work. Must be very hard to simply wave your little puny elf arms and say a couple of pretty words and then poof! All your troubles disappear. 'We have to cope with stereotypes' you whine. Well isn't that just a damn shame! Hundreds of dwarves die every day working hard for their family and clan. How many elves die every day just baking their bread? Dwarvern bread is much harder to create and many, MANY, die in the process. Only the strong survive. Face it, Elf, without your pretty little magics you are nothing. As for stereotypes, people believe Dwarves moronic little mine dwellers. Yes, we do that too. But they fail to understand the complexities of dwarvern society. We get looked down on if we so much as touch a bow. Or shave our beards. Well I'm going to prove them all wrong elf. But, please, do go on fulfilling the very stereotype you're trying to escape. Just make 'people like me' all the more correct."

The group's first sight of Cernan is the shine of his platinum scales, reflecting a light from above. The dragon-born shifted his pack, and sprinted the rest of the way to the group.

"Sorry I'm late, chaps. Took me a little longer than I expected to arrive. You chaps all ready to go?"

"Blimey! What the hell are you!?" Ulric couldn't quite place what the creature before him was. It looked somewhat Draconic but he wasn't exactly sure.

As you round a bend in the path past a stand of weather-worn pines, you catch sight of an encampment of tents and buildings constructed of rough-cut grey stone. A wagon rumbles past your party, loaded down with piles of ore. A small watchtower rises from the near side of the camp from which a pair of archers watch you carefully. One hails you in meticulously enunciated Com"That is quite far enough! I dislike the look of you; what business have you here?"

"Calm down, my good man, as my lessers here have indicated we are simply here to dispense assistance as we have been paid to do."

[Rolepgeek]

"You die from baking bread? My, how frighteningly, marvelously, incompetent." Osoero stared down at the dwarf with amused detachment.

"I think you underestimate the difficulty -and the danger- of working magic. You dwarves never have to worry about that, though, do you? Never have to wonder if your face will melt because you pronounced a word wrong, or if you'll have to fix your window while picking glass shards out of your arms because a neighbor tripped while trying to clean his laundry? If a mage is nothing without his magic, what is a warrior without his blade, or his strength?"

The warlock snorted, allowing the others to introduce the party. This draconic fellow; half-dragon? No...but what, then? Well in any case, he seemed interesting. Perhaps a bit uptight, but Osoero had been known to soothe more ferocious hackles. But this bloody dwarf...

"If we are going to be judging people as greater or lesser, I believe we should do it based on height first..."

[PrivateNomad]

 "Tradok greater!"

[Tawa]

Ruvitsuvi tries to not lose his temper, but he gets ticked enough that he starts looming over Ulric like Gandalf.

"Don't make me lose my temper, dwarf."

Resisting the temptation to sock him in the face, Ruvitsuvi continues to speak.

"If discussion will not get through that thick skull of yours, maybe logic will."

Ruvitsuvi then sits back in his cart and proceeds to give a long, grandpa-y rant to Ulric, with copious amounts of pipe-smoking and "back in my day" type sentences.

"Back in my day, you dwarves knew your place, just like everybody else. You people were always drinking, mining, smithing. You used to be a kindly bunch, willing to sell fine craft-goods with a bow and a friendly handshake, nonetheless! I was always seen in a favorable manner by your kin, who were happy to see my magic tricks and glad to meet someone from such a different path of life. I always respected your kin, you know. They were kind and warm of heart, always happy to make a friend and share a mug of ale. But you, sir. You seem to have no respect for the society that raised you. Besmirch its name, yes. Your kin were always happy to meet those of other races, so long as they meant no harm. And you? You seem to hold the theory that your kin are greater than any other kind of being, and yet you hold no respect for others, the way that your own race does! The way you live, holding your own kind of person above all others, would be like a kobold preaching hatred of dragons, or a priest of Bahamut preaching the ideals of Tiamat. You have no respect for others and utmost respect for your own, yet your own hold ideals that others are just as good as them. You, good sir, make absolutely no sense! There is no need for dwarves to shun elves, or for men to shun kobolds, or half-elves to shun gnomes, or any ridiculous thing of that sort. In the end, we're all just people!"

Ruvitsuvi takes another long drag on his pipe, then hops out of his cart and, like a true professional, hobbles over to the bottom of the tower and speaks to the guy with the navy-blue voice.

"Hail, good sir! I am Ruvitsuvi the Red, master elven sorcerer, and these are my equal compatriots, consisting of two half-orcs, a kobold, what appears to be a dragonborn, a troll, a warlock, and a very discriminatory dwarf. We are here on a mission from the Leaf-Guard, seeking an old mine with a missing crew. Is this the mine?"

[Nerjin]

"You die from baking bread? My, how frighteningly, marvelously, incompetent." Osoero stared down at the dwarf with amused detachment.

"I think you underestimate the difficulty -and the danger- of working magic. You dwarves never have to worry about that, though, do you? Never have to wonder if your face will melt because you pronounced a word wrong, or if you'll have to fix your window while picking glass shards out of your arms because a neighbor tripped while trying to clean his laundry? If a mage is nothing without his magic, what is a warrior without his blade, or his strength?"

The warlock snorted, allowing the others to introduce the party. This draconic fellow; half-dragon? No...but what, then? Well in any case, he seemed interesting. Perhaps a bit uptight, but Osoero had been known to soothe more ferocious hackles. But this bloody dwarf...

"If we are going to be judging people as greater or lesser, I believe we should do it based on height first..."

"Grain does not grow underground as I'm sure you noticed. Thus bread is a bit more difficult to come by in the deeps. We have to harvest other materials. Often risking our lives to the creatures of the deep. Do not get me wrong, I'm sure magic has its own dangers. However those with even a small level of competence can achieve things far greater in a moment than those who work hard could in a life time. I apologize if I came on too strong there. I will admit my own hatred of magic does get the better of me sometimes. But, surely even you can admit that a wizard without his spellbook is much lesser than a warrior without his blade."

Ulric may have added more but the elf spoke first.

"I do believe I may have mispoke earlier. Allow me one moment to think of a reply." Ulric waited until after Ruvitsuvi spoke to the man before he said anything else "Yes, you do have a decent point I will admit. I did indeed come on a bit too strong. I am not saying that those who are not dwarves should be thrown into the pits of hell or something along those lines. However, we are better. The best dwarf is better than the best anything else. Also, I will kindly ask you to not say we 'knew our place'. Being treated as though we were only craftsmen for the talle races is nothing but an insult. If you have issue with me, than take issue with me. But do NOT treat my fellow dwarves as though we are only constructs made to build weaponry and brew alcohol for you lest our partnership end right now with one of us dead. I have no doubt it would be me as your magic would easily obliterate anything I can do. But that does not mean I will not defend my people."

[Tawa]

Ruvitsuvi turns around to Ulric.

"I do not believe that I said that you were all mere craftsworkers or smiths, and I am sorry if I implied that."

Seeing this fool is a lost cause, Ruvitsuvi turns back to the matter at hand.