The Purple Toad was a popular tavern with an attached inn. Well known throughout the land as a place where people can drink their sorrows away in peace. Candle lights emit a soft glow that barely pierce  the dark and cozy feeling as people murmurs can be heard throughout the inn. The smell of pheasant stew fills the air with a whiff of freshly picked peas. The putrid smell of dwarven ale competes for dominance with its only competition being the drunkards who can not control their bladder.

In walks a nobleman donning plate mail armor. He studies the bar and its patrons and walks to the barkeep in a slow methodical stride. As if having a third eye he feels the eyes of patrons upon him and watching him both closely and cautiously. In a smooth fluid motion he flips his cloak back revealing a crest engraved on his tower shield from the church. He motions the barkeep for a drink. 

Athule looks up as if in waking from a dream he missed something and he hated not knowing what was transpiring. He grips his short sword and slowly tugs at the hilt every so quietly removing it from the sheath, all while nursing his whiskey. Years of combat taught him to be prepared so his eyes shift across the room as he concentrates on studying his surroundings. His gaze rests at the entrance, in case he needs to leave in a hurry.

Four hooded black robed figures appeared at the entrance of the tavern, their faces obscure from view. Patrons of the the inn glanced in their general direction knowing they were being watched by the menacing figures.

Meibezis had been watching the events unfold from his corner in the inn, preferring to stick to the shadows he stands up. Gripping the bar stool he fades into the shadows and throws the bar stool at the black robes. With nothing but contempt Meibezis utters, “Die bastard!”

A hush falls over the tavern as the chair sails through the air. The stool hits the lead black robe squarely in the head and shatters upon impact. The black robe staggers back and spikes fly through the air. The spikes shreds the hood of the black robe revealing a skeleton with protruding thorny spikes.  The nobleman clenches his shield and brings it upward deflecting the spikes. Other patrons in the bar are not as lucky as the spikes impale both people and objects alike.

Athule watches in horror as the spikes burst into a greenish flame burning whatever they impale. The greenish hell fire ignites the wood of the inn as a normal fire begins to engulfed parts of the inn. People in the tavern began to cry out in pain as the impaled spikes burn their flesh.  Others rush to the back of the inn away from the skeletons, fearing the walking dead more than being burned alive.

Gulping down his liquid courage,  Athule grabs a bench and rushes the closet black robe. With a mighty swing he bashes the black robe and pushes it back. The impact was so great that more spikes flew in all directions. The bench provide some protection to Athule, but he crumples down in pain as he feels the fiery sting of the spike in his left leg.

Walking down the stairs like an exotic peacock Amergin had two pretty and buxom wenches under each arm, he was exhausted after his private performances. As if time stood still, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and takes in the scene of the tavern room.

“Well now,” He says with a smirk, as he ducks the spikes flying past , “cheap swill and cheaper women.”

A drunken patron, oblivious as to the danger he is in, whispers to Amergin, “The Purple Toads Inn  would not be complete without a good rousing.”

Amergin hands move in a fluid Draconic gesture when suddenly a spotlight appears above his head. Battle music fills the inn as he unsheathes his saber. He effortlessly leaps upon a chandelier that nobody noticed was there until that very moment and flies into battle, the music rising to a crescendo as he laughs bravely into the face of, er, un-death.

He jumps down, landing squarely between the fallen Athule and the skeletal villains. Through all of this, the bard’s hair remains perfect. One of the wenches swoons at the amazingly masculine, as the whole room erupts into a collective Oooooooh!!  

Greytome  enjoys his nightly walks, he finds them helpful in clearing his mind. Not many people understand the demands that the arcane arts places on the mind. He heard the screams and saw smoke coming from the Purple Toad Inn. With renewed interest in the mundane he picked up his pace and headed towards the inn. Assessing the situation Greytome knew he had to contain the fire. Speaking in an arcane tongue while keeping his voice at a whisper he recited an incantation that served him well in the past.

A small cloud appeared over his head and the air became increasingly moist. Vapors begins to spin and condense as small flashes of light appeared sporadically in the cloud. Greytome pointed towards an area of the inn engulfed in a blaze and the cloud sailed towards the area and lingered above it. Rain fell from the cloud and snuffed out the blaze. Greytome continued concentrating and commanding the cloud in a desperate attempt to bring the blaze under control. 

As the rain seeps through the inn, droplets of water begin to extinguishing the fire causing smoke and steam to fill the room. Tiny red globes of fire acting as eyes pierce through the the darkness and smoke and lock their gaze on the nobleman. The black robes move in unison ignoring all others as their skeletal hands reach outward grappling the nobleman.

Scatter spikes impaled the nobleman as he reached withing his cloak withdrawing a small amulet. “Run” he yelled as blood streamed from his body, “It is me they are after.”

Greytome peered inside the building after dispatching the fire, stepping inside he motions for the people to flee. Amergin lifted Athule and swaggered towards the door while singing a soothing lullaby. The patrons fear eased and they followed Amergin soothing hypnotic voice. Greytome silently curse under his breath, he really wanted to examine what Amergin was doing and how it relates to the arcane arts.

With great ease Greytome recites an new incantation as he waves his hands in a circular motion. Darts of light spring from his fingertips and bombards a skeleton. Spikes fly in all directions and impale the nobleman. Greytome avoids being impaled and marvels at the ingenuity of the undead constructs.

The nobelman cries out in pain and then with a forced resolve points the amulet at the skeletons surrounding him, “Foul undead from the pits of hell, I command thee to leave this place. Go back to what every pit from which you were spawned.” The amulet glows and hums softly, the glow slowly morphs into a bright light.

As if a unseen hand is pushing them away the blackrobes withdraw and retreat trying to put as much distance between themselves and the amulet. Greytome accessed his deep knowledge of the arcane arts searching for the right incantation to help with these intriguing opponents.  With confidence he recited his incantation and waved his hand in a semi circle, a burst of colors sprayed the area and confused the skeletons. 

Out of the shadows Meibezis returns and plants his dagger in the back of the nobleman. Assured that no one saw his deed he mingles in the shadows again and slinks out of the tavern.

Riddith, the barkeeper, returns to the Purple Toad with the local militia. Under Greytome’s watchful eye, the local militia destroys the skeletons. Greytome and Riddith went to speak with the nobleman only to find a puddle of blood where he once stood.

“Where did he go?” Riddith asked Greytome as he assessed the damage done to the Purple Toad.

Greytome’s eyes dart back and forth as he examine the puddle of blood. “I do not know. Such a pity, I had so many questions.”