Our story begins in the frontier city of Ventissa, a beacon of civilization and security on the edge of the dread Wilderness of Yilan. Ventissa is a small, walled city of granite and sandstone on the banks of the River Semma. It is dominated by a large gladiatorial arena, a round-towered castle, and a sphinx-flanked temple of the cat goddess Bastet. The climate in the highlands is arid, but the Semma keeps the city unpleasantly muggy. The lingering stench of the city’s moist underbelly is nearly offset by the valuable incense and spices grown in the nearby hills and warehoused in Ventissa before being shipped downriver. Thanks to its location near a low mountain pass into Yilan, Ventissa is also the staging ground for adventurers and merchants seeking their fortune in that primeval and dangerous land.
Gehir Greencloak, a wealthy wizard and scholar, is putting together an expedition to cross the Wilderness of Yilan and rediscover the fabled Golden Tower, an ancient elven fortress said to be full of magic and treasure. He seeks worthy adventurers to act as scouts and guards on this expedition, offering 1,000 gp per person plus a fair share of the spoils. To select the lucky adventuring party, Gehir is holding a tournament in the fighting pits of Ventissa, with the winning team earning the coveted spot on his expedition. This is not a fight to the death, and the arena’s staff of healers will be there to ensure none of the contestants dies. Gehir considers the contest to be a job interview of sorts. The adventuring parties are expected to show resourcefulness, teamwork, and fighting prowess. After all, the Wilderness of Yilan is no place for amateurs.
The PCs are currently in the 2nd-floor bar of The Laughing Lotus. The Laughing Lotus is a three-story stone building jutting out from the river market into the Semma itself—some call it the beating heart of the market. It is a gathering place for travelers, drunks, merchants, and thieves. The second floor is the bar area, packed with tables and booths and barrels of all kinds of drink. A set of stone stairs leads up from the river market to the Lotus’s main entrance on the second story. The entire floor is taken up by the tavern.
The room is lit at night by dozens of lanterns hanging from the ceiling beams, during the day by large unglazed windows that are shuttered at night. Doors open out to a wooden deck that runs around the side of the building facing the river, where even more people are dining and drinking. Several guards in the employ of the tavern are there to deter theft and step in when a fight gets too large.
This large room is as bustling and noisy as the river market outside. Scents of baking bread and roasting meat waft from the kitchen hearth in the center of the room. One wall is taken up with barrels and kegs that a team of bartenders move between like bees in a flower garden. Servants hurry around the room with platters of food and pitchers of drink, catering to the tavern’s raucous and diverse clientele.
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Introduce your characters! Be sure to include a physical description, and whether you know any of the other PCs.
“Grrr…” Atem burped as he slumped over the counter and drunkenly shook the empty tankard in his hand, receiving a barely catchable sigh from the bartender, who deftly took it and refilled it for him. Atem waved a coin between two fingers, placed it on the table, and was right away put away by the bartender. He practically lived in a flask these days. He had just escaped from a dirty, stinking sewer barely with his life, only to learn that his crew thought he was dead and had sold Cutty Jay - his ship - under his name. He squinted out the window as Semma's waves lapped at the merchant's ship while he was stuck on land. He raised his tankard and drained it once again.
Atem appeared to be a young man in his early twenties. His strikingly long silver hair fell down his back, his thin lips curled in a lazy smirk, and it was easy to see his handsome, charming face through his drunken grimace. He was wearing a gray vest with a ridiculously low cut, revealing his perfectly sculpted pectorals and vaguely the shape of his defined abs. His military pants were similarly hanging dangerously low over his hips, the pantlegs of which were neatly tucked into a pair of calf-high boots.
"Hey, I say," he started, "have you heard of any jobs lately where you can make easy money?"
Brain sits with the stature of a man learned beyond his position, much like that you might imagine from William Wallace or Ghengis Khan, but this is a front to the nervous energy he feels that is betrayed only by how fast he puffs on his long stemmed pipe. He's glad Brawn agreed to meet him here, but he is not too comfortable with the decision now that they are all here, what could this rabble hope to accomplish in an arena, much less treasure hunting.
"So, where are you all from? We should introduce ourselves. I'm Byron, my friends call me Brain, I'm a farmer and a long time community member"
Eurkan sits by one of the tables, looking at the drink in his hand. There went the last of his coins... oh well. It is not the first time this happens, and it won't be the last. For now, the Half-Orc stares at his drink, though he had yet to take a sip of it. Once it's gone, it's gone. He should savour it over a long while.
The Half-Orc is close to six feet tall but doesn't look muscular at all. In fact, he was rather slender. There was no mistaking him for a Human though, with his greyish skin and sharp tusks. They were small, even compared to other Half-Orcs, but they were visible enough. His pointy ears weren't very long either - some would say they don't even look too different than some Humans'. His hair - raven black - was cut very short. Less than a finger's width at its longest. His dark eyes kept staring into his mug, though the lips remained dry. Wearing only common clothes, the only things of significance he carried were a backpack, resting between his legs, and a leather belt strapped across his hip line. On the belt were a few leather pockets, containing darts, and a leather frog holding a shortsword.
Eventually, he raises his mug and takes a sip, then lays it on the table. "I'm Eurkan. Nice to meet you." His voice, as Orcish as one could be. Rough, raspy and deep. Dissonant with his appearance and demeanour. "I'd call myself a physician, or a psychiatrist, but with no patients, can one be called a doctor? Could you be a farmer if you had no crops growing?" He takes another small sip off his mug. It was a rather peculiar job, but he was told he'd be paid well. He realised their chances of getting picked as the escorting party were slim, but it was worth the try. He was lucky to overhear the others talking about it.
Walking slowly into the tavern, Fondak is a middle aged desert tortoise. Wearing a well worn set of dark sand colored robes, he also carries a longer walking stick, though being reinforced with metal, it looks almost as if it could be used as a weapon more than just for support. "People in the city are too full of themselves..." he thinks as he looks around. Though he hadn't been in town long, there were a number of faces here he recognized at least. Walking into the tavern and seeing the guards immediately puts Fondak on alert though, and gripping his staff his eyes very briefly flash and suddenly he appears a bit more alert.
He sees a small group of faces he'd seen around starting to gather by the bar, though one is already surprisingly drunk. He sighs and heads towards the group. The chance to search for Golden Tower meant that he would need companions. And while he isn't yet sure if this specific group is trustworthy, they did seem resourceful at least, and already gathering together. Approaching, he grabs a seat just on the outside of the forming group; a seat that makes it almost tough to tell if he's sitting with them or not, but close enough to join in the conversation after he listens a bit. He orders a drink, and once it arrives takes a very small sip, as if testing to be sure that it's safe. Nodding to himself that it's safe, though pursing his lips at the taste, he reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small pouch containing an unfamiliar spice to this area, and sprinkles a very small bit into the drink, tasting it again and smiling a bit. He then leans back and rather obviously, listens to the group as they introduce themselves.
The eye glowing thing was Fondak casting Vigilant Blessing on himself
Vexha, an attractive young human woman with brown hair and green eyes, is surveying the crowd from a corner. She looks over towards Brain, and gives a slight smile. 'This one might have potential' she thinks. 'and the others.. yes.... worth an introduction.." If her horrific and traumatic experiences so far in life have taught her one thing- It is how to recognize people who may survive. So few do...
She is dressed in a hooded forest green traveler's cloak with a staff. She approaches the group and says, directly to Brain- "I am Vexha. I am looking for a crew who can win this tournament and survive the perilous journey afterwards. You might be it. Do you need a wizard?"
she gives a smile. You can see despite her young age, hers is a face which has seen horrors, and there's a determination in her gaze that is a little intimidating, in spite of her beauty
Up the stairs to the second floor of The Laughing Lotus climbs a scowling female dwarf of fairly average height and weight. Her green eyes shift from patron to patron as if she's looking for something. In fact, she's looking for her friend and current roommate, "Brain" Saffron, the only male with any redeeming qualities in this gods-forsaken waste of a town, as far as she's concerned. Her fiery red hair is braided and plaited into a complex weave in an attempt to fight the mess the humidity usually makes of her head. Even still, her hair hangs almost a foot past her shoulders. She reaches up and scratches at the stubble on her jaw and upper lip — another reminder of her good-for-nothing husband and the hoops she jumped through for decades to make him happy — all so he could dally with that tramp behind her back.
Her dress is nothing of interest — inexpensive breathable cloth cut into a loose-fitting form suitable for manual labor. She could easily be mistaken for one of the Lotus's employees, if it wasn't for the large axe strapped to her back. Even the oversized rolling pin accompanying the axe looks more like a weapon than a baking instrument. She pauses at the top of the stairs to get a good look around. She's only been in The Laughing Lotus one other time. She'd forgotten how big it is. The Bronze Grog was about the size of one of the floors, and the Lotus had three! A pang of regret at leaving the life she's known for almost three quarters of a century begins to well up in her chest before she pushes it back down, emotionally squashing the weakness with anger.
She finally spots her spice farmer friend surrounded by a gang of strangers. She marches over, the scowl still darkening her face. She steps up beside Brain. "I'm here," she says gruffly, looking around at the others. She rests her eyes on Vexha and gives the woman a head jerk of greeting. "I'm Brunhelga. Who are you lot?" she asks the wizard, but the question is clearly meant for everyone.
A looming figure enters. Eight feet tall, broad of shoulder, and wearing a cloak so dark and mysterious it draws constant attention and muffled laughter. The figure pulls their hood from their face in an act of deep self-importance. The young Goliath glances around the room, trying so desperately to seem indifferent that one's eye can't help but linger on the young face. His hair, pulled into a bun so messy it must have taken hours to get just right, is the same jet black as the inky geometric markings on his skin. Cloudy eyes scan the room, conveniently failing to lock eyes with the few farmers who recognize the spoiled rich astrologer and shoot him sneering glances.
Cape sweeping illustriously behind him, Heward Cragbind strides purposefully toward the small group forming around the bar, trying and failing to blend in. His perfectly tailored, dark leather armor, embossed with traditional Goliath shamanic symbology, squeaks loudly with every movement, indicating its utter lack of use. Strapped across his chest are twin waterskins, capped with shining silver stoppers. An ornate scimitar, clearly meant only for ceremonial use, is placed incorrectly in a scabbard along his thigh, and clanks awkwardly against the stools of the tavern. Face turning blue with embarrassment he refuses to acknowledge, confront, or discuss, Hew slides smoothly into the seat across from Eurkan, looking him in the eye with an air of knowingness. He speaks, making great effort to ensure his voice remains high and breathy, as his thick fingers dance distractingly along the grain of the table.
"Good evening, good Doctor. What has it been? A few weeks? Since you were called upon by my mothers in an attempt to dissuade me from my fated career in aquamancy? 'This is clearly a coping mechanism', you claimed. 'He has no direction or concrete sense of self', you claimed. 'Utterly deluded in his claims of water-based divining', you said. Well, it appears news of your...'diagnosis' has spread amongst the common people, and now my customers have lost their faith in my ~vision~. So sad to see the city lose faith in your vision, Dr. Eurkan. It's too bad the Temple of Bastet has no use for a mind-shrink such as yourself. If only I'd had the vision to ask my brother, the cleric, if he needed any assistance in healing the minds of the kind people of Ventissa."
Hew's attempts to cloak his frustration and bitterness are blatantly obvious to even a passing observer, his petty words and practiced above-it-all tone as clear as his discomfort in real armor.
"You asked if one could call oneself a doctor with no patients? If a farmer with no crops is truly a farmer? Well, a farmer sees the village through seasons of harvest and drought and blight, and carries on all the same. The farmer will always find work, as sure as they will find soil. A doctor with no patients, however, must wait for a plague to befall his village, in order to be useful again. Perhaps, even, some doctors who find themselves out of work would resort to poisoning the well, just to ensure the village needs them. How to trust a man who tells others to distrust their own minds...that is quite the puzzle, Doctor Eurkan. Seems you were not able to solve that puzzle here in Ventissa, hmm?"
His words are laced with petulant poison, but are immediately neutralized by the blatant metaphor and obvious anger hidden poorly behind his flowery, entitled speech. Though his calm demeanor is well curated, Hew Cragbind is still but a young man, one who has never ventured past the city gates. His knee bouncing nervously beneath the table betrays a deep well of insecurity and uncertainty, and his tenuous touch of the grimy bar surface shows his discomfort in such unpretentious and earthy surroundings.
He smiles softly at the half-orc man, an expression so perfectly minute and patronizing it must be rehearsed in the mirror every morning.
"But I do not fault you, Doctor. You are meant for things more than this small town, as am I. No hard feelings." His fingers extend, and a cool frost covers Eurkan's ale, chilling it to perfection. Hew turns to the small group, posture straightening with a forced sense of easy confidence as the fortune-teller in him comes to the forefront.
"Good evening to you...fine folk. I am Heward Cragbind, but you need only call me Hew." With a flick of his fingers and an utter lack of interest in public decency, the waterskins at his side pop open, and Hew dumps the water onto the table. Another fluid movement and the puddle freezes solid, faint colors and shapes dancing in its reflection. "I am looking for companions to join me in the arena, as I have seen in the Semma that I am meant to venture into the Wilds of Yilan. You see, centuries of Goliath tradition have intertwined to produce in me an innate gift for fortunetelling. Would anyone like a reading? "
Vexha smiles at the dwarf and says “I am Vexha, it is a pleasure to meet you Brunhelga, and all. I am looking to join a group to win the tournament. And Hew- I would love a reading of my fortune! “
She smiles at the Goliath, clearly impressed by his display of magical skills. She is clad in simple,yet elegant clothing under her cloak, in the latest local fashion, and the clothes all appear brand new. Her speech has a strange accent that you’ve never heard before, but it is easy to understand. Clearly she’s not from anywhere nearby.
Eurkan looks at his now-chilled drink. "Oh, don't worry. I've worked among those of faith, it didn't end well. My methods are... not to their liking." He takes a sip of his drink, a little too much. The Goliath's words stung deep. He looks at the now less-than-half-full mug while talking. "Indeed, a doctor is an odd profession. When the people are ill, you are well, and feel guilty about it. When the people are well, you are not, and nobody should feel guilty about it. If I could stop, become a farmer, maybe I'd try, but then I'll be forsaking the few who need my help for my own sake. That is not better than posioning the well, is it? You get caught in an endless cycle. Well, sick and wounded, both in body or mind, are abundant in this world. Eventually, someone will need my help, or I will need another's." He lifts his mug from the table and down all that was in. Damn it, now it's gone. His emotions got the better of him, and now he's staring into an empty mug. He lowers it onto the table and observes young Heward's 'reading'.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"I am sure you will be of great use to the world outside Ventissa, Doctor. Your next round is on me." Hew flicks a gold piece to the older man, happy to have an opportunity to assert his wealth.
Hew smiles, quickly glancing over the human woman to take her in. He moves his hand slowly over the layer of ice coating the table. With great flair and feigned difficulty, a spot of liquid water rises into the air, beginning to form vague shapes, as Hew begins to intone:
"I am sure you will be of great use to the world outside Ventissa, Doctor. Your next round is on me." Hew flicks a gold piece to the older man, happy to have an opportunity to assert his wealth.
Hew smiles, quickly glancing over the human woman to take her in. He moves his hand slowly over the layer of ice coating the table. With great flair and feigned difficulty, a spot of liquid water rises into the air, beginning to form vague shapes, as Hew begins to intone:
20Insight on Vexha
"You have seen great peril"
The water forms into the semblance of a skull, its jaw widening into a silent scream,
"And have found a way out"
The skull bursts in a flash of blue light,
"A power within yourself"
the remaining droplets form crude representations of arcane runes in the air, glowing orange and green and purple for a moment,
"To guide you home"
The runes fade, and a gently flowing river flows across the surface of the table
"But greater terror lies ahead, more than you have known e'er before"
the river vanishes, and the water turns opaque. Hew's eyes almost seem to glow for a second, his carefully controlled expression slips for a moment as he seems surprised by his own insight,
"Keep yourself close, keep your allies close"
A group of humanoid figures forms under the surface of the ice, each figure a reflection of those seated around the table
"Trust your instincts. Trust nothing else."
mist rises from the table as Hew inhales sharply
"Your mind will betray you, your mind will save you"
the ice flashes, suddenly, a technicolor burst of energy
"Beware, beware, beware!"
the water rises in a perfect circle from the table, and bursts into a cloud which quickly dissipates in the muggy evening air.
Hew sits back, attempting to hide his own shock at what just occurred.
"No, no. I should not be drinking a lot," he rejects the youngster's offer, "lest I lose my head. What kind of doctor would I be then? Save it for another, someone who needs it more than I do."
He then watches Hew's show. Certainly, he had a gift for manipulating water, and anorher to read what another wants to hear, but he added a little too much of what he wanted to say. And, if he was right... what did it matter? Most people fight hard only to remain healthy both in body and mind. Fighting one's destiny seemed impossible. If it were so, what did it matter if one knew their destiny or not?
((With that insight check, Hew can tell that Vexha is being honest, she’s seeking to win this tournament , believes she can, and wants to join the best team to do it. She’s hungry for something-money? Power?.... she’s also not from anywhere near by- her mannerisms are those of a foreigner. There’s some dark tragedy or horror in her recent past she’s recovering from... ))
Hew chuckles breathily. This reading had gotten away from him. He typically reserved the ominous platitudes for more superstitious clients, knowing that a little trepidation makes for a great repeat customer. He hadn't meant to suggest such dark things to this total stranger. Once again, his mouth was faster than his mind. Deep down, Hew knew this was little more than a polished parlor trick, that no part of him was connecting with any real divinatory capabilities. But this...something about this...felt different. He had let his own pessimism, his own fear of the future, slip into his "predictions". And for once, his anxious inclinations didn't feel like unreasonable panic, but rather...a preparation, for something far beyond his imagination.
He composes himself, and, as always, looks to the small crowd for validation.
Vexha, expecting more of a parlor trick assisted by a cantrip she once read about- is clearly shocked at the display. A look of horror crosses her face for a moment, but then she attempts to calm herself before speaking to the Goliath.
“Impressive... most impressive Hew.. You are right- I have seen horrors. As for the future- what can it mean? It seems perhaps fate has pushed us together. Well if I am to trust my instincts- My instincts are telling me this is the group for me, if you will have me..”. She takes a sip of her wine, still jittery from the vision.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Leaning over from his seat, Fondak slowly says to the Goliath, “Be careful. meddling in powers. you do not understand.. The gods are. not to be trifled with, and they. often do not like it when we step into. their domains…”
He then shifts his seat over to finally join the group, adding, “Are you all hoping to enter, and win, the tournament? This town. is not to my liking.. Though a search for the tower. sounds like a calling..”Taking a sip from his spiced drink he adds, “Call me Fondak.”
(forgot to subscribe) Brain blinks out of a daydream and takes a sip of his drink. This lot is stranger than he imagined, but he's enjoying that everyone is interacting. He looks to Brunhelga with a smile "Sorry Brawn, list in thought"
Brunhelga reaches out and pinches between two fingers the ignored coin Hew tossed at Eurkan and then waves a waitress over. She looks at her friend. "Quite a group you've attracted, Brain," she says with obvious sarcasm and with no attempt at being quiet. She turns to the approaching worker. "Something warm and hearty that I can eat with a spoon, a hunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, and two mugs of ale." She hands the waitress the gold piece. "Keep the extra." Not waiting for a response, the dwarf moves around the group, grabs an empty chair from an adjoining table, and drops it beside Vexha. Dropping heavily into the seat, Brunhelga nods at the woman again. "Looks like we're the only two civilized folk my smart friend was able to entice into joining our little party. Perhaps we can whip these crotch scratchers into a cohesive enough group to win this tournament. I need to get out of Ventissa, and this is my ticket. So, what are your talents?"
Apparently recovering fully from Hew’s display, Vexha smiles at the dwarf and replies “agreed- with getting this group together as a team- and with getting out of this city. While I have been far worse places, I have no desire to stay here any longer than needed. I’m a wizard, of sorts. Still learning I am afraid, but I can be of use as long as I’m not face to face with many foes. I also know many arcane things, can speak and read elvish well, which may come in handy for this tower search, and know history. You seem like a tough one to face in a battle.” She smiles again. Turning to Fondak, she says “Yes- entering, and winning, this tournament , is my plan, it is a pleasure meeting you. I am Vexha, a wizard and scholar. “
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Our story begins in the frontier city of Ventissa, a beacon of civilization and security on the edge of the dread Wilderness of Yilan. Ventissa is a small, walled city of granite and sandstone on the banks of the River Semma. It is dominated by a large gladiatorial arena, a round-towered castle, and a sphinx-flanked temple of the cat goddess Bastet. The climate in the highlands is arid, but the Semma keeps the city unpleasantly muggy. The lingering stench of the city’s moist underbelly is nearly offset by the valuable incense and spices grown in the nearby hills and warehoused in Ventissa before being shipped downriver. Thanks to its location near a low mountain pass into Yilan, Ventissa is also the staging ground for adventurers and merchants seeking their fortune in that primeval and dangerous land.
Gehir Greencloak, a wealthy wizard and scholar, is putting together an expedition to cross the Wilderness of Yilan and rediscover the fabled Golden Tower, an ancient elven fortress said to be full of magic and treasure. He seeks worthy adventurers to act as scouts and guards on this expedition, offering 1,000 gp per person plus a fair share of the spoils. To select the lucky adventuring party, Gehir is holding a tournament in the fighting pits of Ventissa, with the winning team earning the coveted spot on his expedition. This is not a fight to the death, and the arena’s staff of healers will be there to ensure none of the contestants dies. Gehir considers the contest to be a job interview of sorts. The adventuring parties are expected to show resourcefulness, teamwork, and fighting prowess. After all, the Wilderness of Yilan is no place for amateurs.
The PCs are currently in the 2nd-floor bar of The Laughing Lotus. The Laughing Lotus is a three-story stone building jutting out from the river market into the Semma itself—some call it the beating heart of the market. It is a gathering place for travelers, drunks, merchants, and thieves. The second floor is the bar area, packed with tables and booths and barrels of all kinds of drink. A set of stone stairs leads up from the river market to the Lotus’s main entrance on the second story. The entire floor is taken up by the tavern.
The room is lit at night by dozens of lanterns hanging from the ceiling beams, during the day by large unglazed windows that are shuttered at night. Doors open out to a wooden deck that runs around the side of the building facing the river, where even more people are dining and drinking. Several guards in the employ of the tavern are there to deter theft and step in when a fight gets too large.
This large room is as bustling and noisy as the river market outside. Scents of baking bread and roasting meat waft from the kitchen hearth in the center of the room. One wall is taken up with barrels and kegs that a team of bartenders move between like bees in a flower garden. Servants hurry around the room with platters of food and pitchers of drink, catering to the tavern’s raucous and diverse clientele.
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Introduce your characters! Be sure to include a physical description, and whether you know any of the other PCs.
“Grrr…” Atem burped as he slumped over the counter and drunkenly shook the empty tankard in his hand, receiving a barely catchable sigh from the bartender, who deftly took it and refilled it for him. Atem waved a coin between two fingers, placed it on the table, and was right away put away by the bartender. He practically lived in a flask these days. He had just escaped from a dirty, stinking sewer barely with his life, only to learn that his crew thought he was dead and had sold Cutty Jay - his ship - under his name. He squinted out the window as Semma's waves lapped at the merchant's ship while he was stuck on land. He raised his tankard and drained it once again.
Atem appeared to be a young man in his early twenties. His strikingly long silver hair fell down his back, his thin lips curled in a lazy smirk, and it was easy to see his handsome, charming face through his drunken grimace. He was wearing a gray vest with a ridiculously low cut, revealing his perfectly sculpted pectorals and vaguely the shape of his defined abs. His military pants were similarly hanging dangerously low over his hips, the pantlegs of which were neatly tucked into a pair of calf-high boots.
"Hey, I say," he started, "have you heard of any jobs lately where you can make easy money?"
Brain sits with the stature of a man learned beyond his position, much like that you might imagine from William Wallace or Ghengis Khan, but this is a front to the nervous energy he feels that is betrayed only by how fast he puffs on his long stemmed pipe. He's glad Brawn agreed to meet him here, but he is not too comfortable with the decision now that they are all here, what could this rabble hope to accomplish in an arena, much less treasure hunting.
"So, where are you all from? We should introduce ourselves. I'm Byron, my friends call me Brain, I'm a farmer and a long time community member"
Eurkan sits by one of the tables, looking at the drink in his hand. There went the last of his coins... oh well. It is not the first time this happens, and it won't be the last. For now, the Half-Orc stares at his drink, though he had yet to take a sip of it. Once it's gone, it's gone. He should savour it over a long while.
The Half-Orc is close to six feet tall but doesn't look muscular at all. In fact, he was rather slender. There was no mistaking him for a Human though, with his greyish skin and sharp tusks. They were small, even compared to other Half-Orcs, but they were visible enough. His pointy ears weren't very long either - some would say they don't even look too different than some Humans'. His hair - raven black - was cut very short. Less than a finger's width at its longest. His dark eyes kept staring into his mug, though the lips remained dry. Wearing only common clothes, the only things of significance he carried were a backpack, resting between his legs, and a leather belt strapped across his hip line. On the belt were a few leather pockets, containing darts, and a leather frog holding a shortsword.
Eventually, he raises his mug and takes a sip, then lays it on the table. "I'm Eurkan. Nice to meet you." His voice, as Orcish as one could be. Rough, raspy and deep. Dissonant with his appearance and demeanour. "I'd call myself a physician, or a psychiatrist, but with no patients, can one be called a doctor? Could you be a farmer if you had no crops growing?" He takes another small sip off his mug. It was a rather peculiar job, but he was told he'd be paid well. He realised their chances of getting picked as the escorting party were slim, but it was worth the try. He was lucky to overhear the others talking about it.
Varielky | Emma
Walking slowly into the tavern, Fondak is a middle aged desert tortoise. Wearing a well worn set of dark sand colored robes, he also carries a longer walking stick, though being reinforced with metal, it looks almost as if it could be used as a weapon more than just for support. "People in the city are too full of themselves..." he thinks as he looks around. Though he hadn't been in town long, there were a number of faces here he recognized at least. Walking into the tavern and seeing the guards immediately puts Fondak on alert though, and gripping his staff his eyes very briefly flash and suddenly he appears a bit more alert.
He sees a small group of faces he'd seen around starting to gather by the bar, though one is already surprisingly drunk. He sighs and heads towards the group. The chance to search for Golden Tower meant that he would need companions. And while he isn't yet sure if this specific group is trustworthy, they did seem resourceful at least, and already gathering together. Approaching, he grabs a seat just on the outside of the forming group; a seat that makes it almost tough to tell if he's sitting with them or not, but close enough to join in the conversation after he listens a bit. He orders a drink, and once it arrives takes a very small sip, as if testing to be sure that it's safe. Nodding to himself that it's safe, though pursing his lips at the taste, he reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small pouch containing an unfamiliar spice to this area, and sprinkles a very small bit into the drink, tasting it again and smiling a bit. He then leans back and rather obviously, listens to the group as they introduce themselves.
The eye glowing thing was Fondak casting Vigilant Blessing on himself
PbP 🎲: Tyekanik; Moneo Noree; Korba Muris; & occasional DM:
Vexha, an attractive young human woman with brown hair and green eyes, is surveying the crowd from a corner. She looks over towards Brain, and gives a slight smile. 'This one might have potential' she thinks. 'and the others.. yes.... worth an introduction.." If her horrific and traumatic experiences so far in life have taught her one thing- It is how to recognize people who may survive. So few do...
She is dressed in a hooded forest green traveler's cloak with a staff. She approaches the group and says, directly to Brain- "I am Vexha. I am looking for a crew who can win this tournament and survive the perilous journey afterwards. You might be it. Do you need a wizard?"
she gives a smile. You can see despite her young age, hers is a face which has seen horrors, and there's a determination in her gaze that is a little intimidating, in spite of her beauty
Up the stairs to the second floor of The Laughing Lotus climbs a scowling female dwarf of fairly average height and weight. Her green eyes shift from patron to patron as if she's looking for something. In fact, she's looking for her friend and current roommate, "Brain" Saffron, the only male with any redeeming qualities in this gods-forsaken waste of a town, as far as she's concerned. Her fiery red hair is braided and plaited into a complex weave in an attempt to fight the mess the humidity usually makes of her head. Even still, her hair hangs almost a foot past her shoulders. She reaches up and scratches at the stubble on her jaw and upper lip — another reminder of her good-for-nothing husband and the hoops she jumped through for decades to make him happy — all so he could dally with that tramp behind her back.
Her dress is nothing of interest — inexpensive breathable cloth cut into a loose-fitting form suitable for manual labor. She could easily be mistaken for one of the Lotus's employees, if it wasn't for the large axe strapped to her back. Even the oversized rolling pin accompanying the axe looks more like a weapon than a baking instrument. She pauses at the top of the stairs to get a good look around. She's only been in The Laughing Lotus one other time. She'd forgotten how big it is. The Bronze Grog was about the size of one of the floors, and the Lotus had three! A pang of regret at leaving the life she's known for almost three quarters of a century begins to well up in her chest before she pushes it back down, emotionally squashing the weakness with anger.
She finally spots her spice farmer friend surrounded by a gang of strangers. She marches over, the scowl still darkening her face. She steps up beside Brain. "I'm here," she says gruffly, looking around at the others. She rests her eyes on Vexha and gives the woman a head jerk of greeting. "I'm Brunhelga. Who are you lot?" she asks the wizard, but the question is clearly meant for everyone.
A looming figure enters. Eight feet tall, broad of shoulder, and wearing a cloak so dark and mysterious it draws constant attention and muffled laughter. The figure pulls their hood from their face in an act of deep self-importance. The young Goliath glances around the room, trying so desperately to seem indifferent that one's eye can't help but linger on the young face. His hair, pulled into a bun so messy it must have taken hours to get just right, is the same jet black as the inky geometric markings on his skin. Cloudy eyes scan the room, conveniently failing to lock eyes with the few farmers who recognize the spoiled rich astrologer and shoot him sneering glances.
Cape sweeping illustriously behind him, Heward Cragbind strides purposefully toward the small group forming around the bar, trying and failing to blend in. His perfectly tailored, dark leather armor, embossed with traditional Goliath shamanic symbology, squeaks loudly with every movement, indicating its utter lack of use. Strapped across his chest are twin waterskins, capped with shining silver stoppers. An ornate scimitar, clearly meant only for ceremonial use, is placed incorrectly in a scabbard along his thigh, and clanks awkwardly against the stools of the tavern. Face turning blue with embarrassment he refuses to acknowledge, confront, or discuss, Hew slides smoothly into the seat across from Eurkan, looking him in the eye with an air of knowingness. He speaks, making great effort to ensure his voice remains high and breathy, as his thick fingers dance distractingly along the grain of the table.
"Good evening, good Doctor. What has it been? A few weeks? Since you were called upon by my mothers in an attempt to dissuade me from my fated career in aquamancy? 'This is clearly a coping mechanism', you claimed. 'He has no direction or concrete sense of self', you claimed. 'Utterly deluded in his claims of water-based divining', you said. Well, it appears news of your...'diagnosis' has spread amongst the common people, and now my customers have lost their faith in my ~vision~. So sad to see the city lose faith in your vision, Dr. Eurkan. It's too bad the Temple of Bastet has no use for a mind-shrink such as yourself. If only I'd had the vision to ask my brother, the cleric, if he needed any assistance in healing the minds of the kind people of Ventissa."
Hew's attempts to cloak his frustration and bitterness are blatantly obvious to even a passing observer, his petty words and practiced above-it-all tone as clear as his discomfort in real armor.
"You asked if one could call oneself a doctor with no patients? If a farmer with no crops is truly a farmer? Well, a farmer sees the village through seasons of harvest and drought and blight, and carries on all the same. The farmer will always find work, as sure as they will find soil. A doctor with no patients, however, must wait for a plague to befall his village, in order to be useful again. Perhaps, even, some doctors who find themselves out of work would resort to poisoning the well, just to ensure the village needs them. How to trust a man who tells others to distrust their own minds...that is quite the puzzle, Doctor Eurkan. Seems you were not able to solve that puzzle here in Ventissa, hmm?"
His words are laced with petulant poison, but are immediately neutralized by the blatant metaphor and obvious anger hidden poorly behind his flowery, entitled speech. Though his calm demeanor is well curated, Hew Cragbind is still but a young man, one who has never ventured past the city gates. His knee bouncing nervously beneath the table betrays a deep well of insecurity and uncertainty, and his tenuous touch of the grimy bar surface shows his discomfort in such unpretentious and earthy surroundings.
He smiles softly at the half-orc man, an expression so perfectly minute and patronizing it must be rehearsed in the mirror every morning.
"But I do not fault you, Doctor. You are meant for things more than this small town, as am I. No hard feelings." His fingers extend, and a cool frost covers Eurkan's ale, chilling it to perfection. Hew turns to the small group, posture straightening with a forced sense of easy confidence as the fortune-teller in him comes to the forefront.
"Good evening to you...fine folk. I am Heward Cragbind, but you need only call me Hew." With a flick of his fingers and an utter lack of interest in public decency, the waterskins at his side pop open, and Hew dumps the water onto the table. Another fluid movement and the puddle freezes solid, faint colors and shapes dancing in its reflection. "I am looking for companions to join me in the arena, as I have seen in the Semma that I am meant to venture into the Wilds of Yilan. You see, centuries of Goliath tradition have intertwined to produce in me an innate gift for fortunetelling. Would anyone like a reading? "
Vexha smiles at the dwarf and says “I am Vexha, it is a pleasure to meet you Brunhelga, and all. I am looking to join a group to win the tournament. And Hew- I would love a reading of my fortune! “
She smiles at the Goliath, clearly impressed by his display of magical skills. She is clad in simple,yet elegant clothing under her cloak, in the latest local fashion, and the clothes all appear brand new. Her speech has a strange accent that you’ve never heard before, but it is easy to understand. Clearly she’s not from anywhere nearby.
Eurkan looks at his now-chilled drink. "Oh, don't worry. I've worked among those of faith, it didn't end well. My methods are... not to their liking." He takes a sip of his drink, a little too much. The Goliath's words stung deep. He looks at the now less-than-half-full mug while talking. "Indeed, a doctor is an odd profession. When the people are ill, you are well, and feel guilty about it. When the people are well, you are not, and nobody should feel guilty about it. If I could stop, become a farmer, maybe I'd try, but then I'll be forsaking the few who need my help for my own sake. That is not better than posioning the well, is it? You get caught in an endless cycle. Well, sick and wounded, both in body or mind, are abundant in this world. Eventually, someone will need my help, or I will need another's." He lifts his mug from the table and down all that was in. Damn it, now it's gone. His emotions got the better of him, and now he's staring into an empty mug. He lowers it onto the table and observes young Heward's 'reading'.
Varielky | Emma
"I am sure you will be of great use to the world outside Ventissa, Doctor. Your next round is on me." Hew flicks a gold piece to the older man, happy to have an opportunity to assert his wealth.
Hew smiles, quickly glancing over the human woman to take her in. He moves his hand slowly over the layer of ice coating the table. With great flair and feigned difficulty, a spot of liquid water rises into the air, beginning to form vague shapes, as Hew begins to intone:
20 Insight on Vexha
"You have seen great peril"
The water forms into the semblance of a skull, its jaw widening into a silent scream,
"And have found a way out"
The skull bursts in a flash of blue light,
"A power within yourself"
the remaining droplets form crude representations of arcane runes in the air, glowing orange and green and purple for a moment,
"To guide you home"
The runes fade, and a gently flowing river flows across the surface of the table
"But greater terror lies ahead, more than you have known e'er before"
the river vanishes, and the water turns opaque. Hew's eyes almost seem to glow for a second, his carefully controlled expression slips for a moment as he seems surprised by his own insight,
"Keep yourself close, keep your allies close"
A group of humanoid figures forms under the surface of the ice, each figure a reflection of those seated around the table
"Trust your instincts. Trust nothing else."
mist rises from the table as Hew inhales sharply
"Your mind will betray you, your mind will save you"
the ice flashes, suddenly, a technicolor burst of energy
"Beware, beware, beware!"
the water rises in a perfect circle from the table, and bursts into a cloud which quickly dissipates in the muggy evening air.
Hew sits back, attempting to hide his own shock at what just occurred.
"No, no. I should not be drinking a lot," he rejects the youngster's offer, "lest I lose my head. What kind of doctor would I be then? Save it for another, someone who needs it more than I do."
He then watches Hew's show. Certainly, he had a gift for manipulating water, and anorher to read what another wants to hear, but he added a little too much of what he wanted to say. And, if he was right... what did it matter? Most people fight hard only to remain healthy both in body and mind. Fighting one's destiny seemed impossible. If it were so, what did it matter if one knew their destiny or not?
Varielky | Emma
((With that insight check, Hew can tell that Vexha is being honest, she’s seeking to win this tournament , believes she can, and wants to join the best team to do it. She’s hungry for something-money? Power?.... she’s also not from anywhere near by- her mannerisms are those of a foreigner. There’s some dark tragedy or horror in her recent past she’s recovering from... ))
Hew chuckles breathily. This reading had gotten away from him. He typically reserved the ominous platitudes for more superstitious clients, knowing that a little trepidation makes for a great repeat customer. He hadn't meant to suggest such dark things to this total stranger. Once again, his mouth was faster than his mind. Deep down, Hew knew this was little more than a polished parlor trick, that no part of him was connecting with any real divinatory capabilities. But this...something about this...felt different. He had let his own pessimism, his own fear of the future, slip into his "predictions". And for once, his anxious inclinations didn't feel like unreasonable panic, but rather...a preparation, for something far beyond his imagination.
He composes himself, and, as always, looks to the small crowd for validation.
Vexha, expecting more of a parlor trick assisted by a cantrip she once read about- is clearly shocked at the display. A look of horror crosses her face for a moment, but then she attempts to calm herself before speaking to the Goliath.
“Impressive... most impressive Hew.. You are right- I have seen horrors. As for the future- what can it mean? It seems perhaps fate has pushed us together. Well if I am to trust my instincts- My instincts are telling me this is the group for me, if you will have me..”. She takes a sip of her wine, still jittery from the vision.
Leaning over from his seat, Fondak slowly says to the Goliath, “Be careful. meddling in powers. you do not understand.. The gods are. not to be trifled with, and they. often do not like it when we step into. their domains…”
He then shifts his seat over to finally join the group, adding, “Are you all hoping to enter, and win, the tournament? This town. is not to my liking.. Though a search for the tower. sounds like a calling..” Taking a sip from his spiced drink he adds, “Call me Fondak.”
Insight 18 on Hew’s intentions
PbP 🎲: Tyekanik; Moneo Noree; Korba Muris; & occasional DM:
(forgot to subscribe) Brain blinks out of a daydream and takes a sip of his drink. This lot is stranger than he imagined, but he's enjoying that everyone is interacting. He looks to Brunhelga with a smile "Sorry Brawn, list in thought"
Brunhelga reaches out and pinches between two fingers the ignored coin Hew tossed at Eurkan and then waves a waitress over. She looks at her friend. "Quite a group you've attracted, Brain," she says with obvious sarcasm and with no attempt at being quiet. She turns to the approaching worker. "Something warm and hearty that I can eat with a spoon, a hunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, and two mugs of ale." She hands the waitress the gold piece. "Keep the extra." Not waiting for a response, the dwarf moves around the group, grabs an empty chair from an adjoining table, and drops it beside Vexha. Dropping heavily into the seat, Brunhelga nods at the woman again. "Looks like we're the only two civilized folk my smart friend was able to entice into joining our little party. Perhaps we can whip these crotch scratchers into a cohesive enough group to win this tournament. I need to get out of Ventissa, and this is my ticket. So, what are your talents?"
Apparently recovering fully from Hew’s display, Vexha smiles at the dwarf and replies “agreed- with getting this group together as a team- and with getting out of this city. While I have been far worse places, I have no desire to stay here any longer than needed. I’m a wizard, of sorts. Still learning I am afraid, but I can be of use as long as I’m not face to face with many foes. I also know many arcane things, can speak and read elvish well, which may come in handy for this tower search, and know history. You seem like a tough one to face in a battle.” She smiles again.
Turning to Fondak, she says “Yes- entering, and winning, this tournament , is my plan, it is a pleasure meeting you. I am Vexha, a wizard and scholar. “