It is the evening of the festival of Greengrass in the Year of Three Ships Sailing. A torrential rain pours outside a packed tavern. Not just any tavern, but the Yawning Portal, the most famous tavern in Waterdeep. In addition to the ale and beer, which are high quality and of an acceptable price, it is famous in part for its unorthodox design: it was built around a wide and deep well leading into the Undermountain, the massive dungeon below Waterdeep.
Today the taproom is vibrant, with flowers of all colors decorating the stone well, the tables and the wooden pillars that keep up the three story building. You sit around a sturdy wooden table lit by brightly burning candle and littered with plates cleared of food and half-drained tankards. There are two traditions on Greengrass. First, wealthier people give flowers to the less wealthy, who either wear them or spread them on the ground to encourage the deities to usher in the summer. And second, when feasting together one is supposed to give a short introduction to the table, whether eveyrone else at the table already knows them or not.
At the end of the table, far away from the others is a dark haired, golden eyed creature with a bit of stubble growing on his face. Every now and then, a mouse peeks it's head out of his clothes. Just one mouse. To the elves in the group, he looks like a human. To the humans, he looks like an elf, even with his beard.
He's tearing into the food before him, hungry. Using his fingers and sometimes full on using his face. Absolutely zero manners. He is considerate, to a degree though, as every now and then he feeds his mouse a piece of food.
The lithely built young man looks to the others. Not wanting to be the first one to introduce himself. He waits.
A teenage boy with big amber eyes watches the elven stranger attack his food. He eats loudly as well, but paying more attention to the utensils provided. Without removing his gaze from this bearded fey, he says, with a mixture of fascination and horror;
"My uhh... my name is Creach Adair, and I'm a hunter in the woods out east... I'm sorry, do you ever slow down?" His last question directed to the golden eyed stranger.
"Ai! Mm ame zz Awan! Ow'zit 'oin' uddi?" Says the elven(?) man in the worldwide language of chipmunk, with his cheeks puffed out with how full they are. He swallows, after several heartbeats. Extending his meat-juice covered hand for a shake. There's also a bit of frosting on there, too. Upon spotting that, he retracts his hand, holding up a finger. Before licking his hand clean, then extending it again.
A Goliath slouches at one end of the table, listening for now.
(OOC Still on the road for a few hours)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
"This is Alekzander the Small, and that drow is one of my oldest of pals, even if he's a grump." Aran smiles at the teenager, now that his mouth isn't full. To be perfectly honest. Those at the table get the feeling that he'd smile even with his mouth full. As he introduces Alekzander, that cute pink little nose peeks it's head out of a pocket somewhere. There's a sniff. A squeak. Then it's back into Aran's pocket he goes. Aran gestures to the male drow sitting somewhere nearby, although Aran doesn't say the drow's name.
At the head of the table, in full view of everyone is an older human man with grey beard and hair, peppered with the last remnants of black hair, and bright blue eyes. He is cheerful and smiling as he speaks in a loud voice that can be heard from several tables over. He appears to be past his middle years and has a bit of a gut over his belt but is wearing rather fine clothes. He stands to better gather the attention of those he addresses and introduces himself with no hesitation or embarrassment.
“Hello, Hello everyone! My name is Thaddeus Holis, Professor Thaddeus Holis, but please call me Thad or simply professor if you want. Some of you may recognize the name as I am somewhat known around the country.”
He looks around the table at those gathered and waits for some kind of recognition. When no one speaks up he moves along quickly without a worry.
”No scholars or students from the university here I take it? Well no matter, no matter, I am a frequent visitor of the Yawning Portal. Old Durnan and I go way back. He often has me interview particularly skilled adventurers and combatants before they attempt a trip into the well.”
He gestures to the large opening in the floor behind him.
”I see some of you look like the martial sorts, come speak up, what type of weapons do you use? What type of fighting styles do you employ? I happen to be an expert on martial arts and weapon fighting. In fact I have quite literally written the book on it. Several books in fact.”
Although he talks a lot and some may mistake his words for bravado or bragging he is completely sincere and friendly. His words seem to fill the air and remove some of the nervous energy at the table. He also speaks with a confidence and charm that is infectious. Listeners tend to lean in and be charmed by his amicable and open demeanor. There’s almost an air of magic as he speaks and his words resonate with a gravity or energy beyond the simple meaning of the words themselves. Several people at neighboring tables turn to listen to him speak.
There's a few moments as he considers Creach's question about slowing down. And Aran takes a moment, to think about it. He really thinks about it. And after a few moments of consideration, he shakes his head rapidly. The golden-eyed fellow stating with a wave of the hand. "N'aww. One moment you have food, the next, poof!" He makes his hands wiggle in the air. "it's all gone. That's why you need to fill your belly when you can." His head nods sagely as he advises the younger, if only slightly, Creach as if this is possibly the most important thing you should learn in life.
"Huh?" Says Aran as he gazes upon the plump man. The early twenties elf(?), human(?) nods his head at the guy as he speaks. "Yeah, sure, I heard of ya." There's a beat.
"What's a university." He whispers to those nearby him.
Another beat, and he's elbowing his drow companion as the professor talks. And talks. "Get a load of this guy, eh?" Another heartbeat as he observes the man's gut as it jiggles. "on second thought, he already did."
"I use a bow, I shoot things, then I stab them to make sure they're dead out of mercy. That is, I do that when at a distance. Very effective against deer, birds, and sometimes wolves, BUT-" Creach says, waving a drumstick in the direction of the professor, "Bears and boars are not so easy. When faced with brute strength, I find the best way to combat it is with speed and evasion. When charged by a boar, you won't have time to draw your bow. You need close combat weapons to slice them up." He finishes, taking a bite out of his drumstick.
"And that's why, in the wild, you would be the first to die." Creach says, wiping his mouth and taking a drink from a cup, before realizing that that wasn't his cup, and that he apparently doesn't like whiskey.
The professor smiles at Creach, “and who taught you the use of the bow or the knife? You know, every culture has their own style of combat training, with their own strengths and weaknesses. And within the cultures, each practitioner has their own idiosyncrasies which color their training and style. I can imagine that with enough observation and research one could name the culture and even the trainer a person learned from just by watching them fight. Hmmm I’ll have to remember that.” He pulls a large book out of his pack and a quill and makes a short note in the book before putting them away.
“I specialize in close combat techniques but am no stranger to ranged combat styles either. I guarantee, with 5 minutes of training I can give you a few pointers that’ll have you shooting straighter and hitting harder. As skilled as I’m sure you are, the world is full of different fighting styles and techniques that all have their strengths and weaknesses. I’ve made it my life’s work to study them all. Perhaps some day I can observe your form and offer some suggestions?”
"A man that rejects criticism is blind to his own weakness. I would be delighted to study with you. But uhh... what's 'idiosynchrasy'?" Creach asks, savouring the word on his tongue.
"Says the guy getting his cups mixed up." Chortles Aran. There's a beat, and then he's getting a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peers into his own cup. In it is a spicy liquid. The kind that makes your eyes water. As the talk goes on, Aran hopes to take advantage of this distraction, in an effort to switch cups with Creach. Did he succeed?
Thad chuckles and smiles at the young hunter. “Well said young man, well said! And forgive my big words. I sometimes use large words to hide my small ideas. Idiosyncrasies are like small differences or personal traits. For example, two deer may be similar in appearance but one may be more cautious but another more bold and adventurous.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Noob
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
It is the evening of the festival of Greengrass in the Year of Three Ships Sailing. A torrential rain pours outside a packed tavern. Not just any tavern, but the Yawning Portal, the most famous tavern in Waterdeep. In addition to the ale and beer, which are high quality and of an acceptable price, it is famous in part for its unorthodox design: it was built around a wide and deep well leading into the Undermountain, the massive dungeon below Waterdeep.
Today the taproom is vibrant, with flowers of all colors decorating the stone well, the tables and the wooden pillars that keep up the three story building. You sit around a sturdy wooden table lit by brightly burning candle and littered with plates cleared of food and half-drained tankards. There are two traditions on Greengrass. First, wealthier people give flowers to the less wealthy, who either wear them or spread them on the ground to encourage the deities to usher in the summer. And second, when feasting together one is supposed to give a short introduction to the table, whether eveyrone else at the table already knows them or not.
Don't be shy; introduce yourself!
At the end of the table, far away from the others is a dark haired, golden eyed creature with a bit of stubble growing on his face. Every now and then, a mouse peeks it's head out of his clothes. Just one mouse. To the elves in the group, he looks like a human. To the humans, he looks like an elf, even with his beard.
He's tearing into the food before him, hungry. Using his fingers and sometimes full on using his face. Absolutely zero manners. He is considerate, to a degree though, as every now and then he feeds his mouse a piece of food.
The lithely built young man looks to the others. Not wanting to be the first one to introduce himself. He waits.
A teenage boy with big amber eyes watches the elven stranger attack his food. He eats loudly as well, but paying more attention to the utensils provided. Without removing his gaze from this bearded fey, he says, with a mixture of fascination and horror;
"My uhh... my name is Creach Adair, and I'm a hunter in the woods out east... I'm sorry, do you ever slow down?" His last question directed to the golden eyed stranger.
Farewell.
"Ai! Mm ame zz Awan! Ow'zit 'oin' uddi?" Says the elven(?) man in the worldwide language of chipmunk, with his cheeks puffed out with how full they are. He swallows, after several heartbeats. Extending his meat-juice covered hand for a shake. There's also a bit of frosting on there, too. Upon spotting that, he retracts his hand, holding up a finger. Before licking his hand clean, then extending it again.
Creach extends his hand slightly greasy hand out to shake (?) hand and wipes his hand an a napkin afterward.
(Could I get a translation please? Creach speaks Chipmunk, Fitz does not.)
Farewell.
A Goliath slouches at one end of the table, listening for now.
(OOC Still on the road for a few hours)
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * [Sound of Cork Popping] - Kenku - Lvl 3 Lore Bard - Everasil
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
(My guess is "Hi, my name is Awan! How's it going buddy?")
(Hi! My name is Aran! How's it going, buddy?!"
"This is Alekzander the Small, and that drow is one of my oldest of pals, even if he's a grump." Aran smiles at the teenager, now that his mouth isn't full. To be perfectly honest. Those at the table get the feeling that he'd smile even with his mouth full. As he introduces Alekzander, that cute pink little nose peeks it's head out of a pocket somewhere. There's a sniff. A squeak. Then it's back into Aran's pocket he goes. Aran gestures to the male drow sitting somewhere nearby, although Aran doesn't say the drow's name.
At the head of the table, in full view of everyone is an older human man with grey beard and hair, peppered with the last remnants of black hair, and bright blue eyes. He is cheerful and smiling as he speaks in a loud voice that can be heard from several tables over. He appears to be past his middle years and has a bit of a gut over his belt but is wearing rather fine clothes. He stands to better gather the attention of those he addresses and introduces himself with no hesitation or embarrassment.
“Hello, Hello everyone! My name is Thaddeus Holis, Professor Thaddeus Holis, but please call me Thad or simply professor if you want. Some of you may recognize the name as I am somewhat known around the country.”
He looks around the table at those gathered and waits for some kind of recognition. When no one speaks up he moves along quickly without a worry.
”No scholars or students from the university here I take it? Well no matter, no matter, I am a frequent visitor of the Yawning Portal. Old Durnan and I go way back. He often has me interview particularly skilled adventurers and combatants before they attempt a trip into the well.”
He gestures to the large opening in the floor behind him.
”I see some of you look like the martial sorts, come speak up, what type of weapons do you use? What type of fighting styles do you employ? I happen to be an expert on martial arts and weapon fighting. In fact I have quite literally written the book on it. Several books in fact.”
Although he talks a lot and some may mistake his words for bravado or bragging he is completely sincere and friendly. His words seem to fill the air and remove some of the nervous energy at the table. He also speaks with a confidence and charm that is infectious. Listeners tend to lean in and be charmed by his amicable and open demeanor. There’s almost an air of magic as he speaks and his words resonate with a gravity or energy beyond the simple meaning of the words themselves. Several people at neighboring tables turn to listen to him speak.
Noob
There's a few moments as he considers Creach's question about slowing down. And Aran takes a moment, to think about it. He really thinks about it. And after a few moments of consideration, he shakes his head rapidly. The golden-eyed fellow stating with a wave of the hand. "N'aww. One moment you have food, the next, poof!" He makes his hands wiggle in the air. "it's all gone. That's why you need to fill your belly when you can." His head nods sagely as he advises the younger, if only slightly, Creach as if this is possibly the most important thing you should learn in life.
"Huh?" Says Aran as he gazes upon the plump man. The early twenties elf(?), human(?) nods his head at the guy as he speaks. "Yeah, sure, I heard of ya." There's a beat.
"What's a university." He whispers to those nearby him.
Another beat, and he's elbowing his drow companion as the professor talks. And talks. "Get a load of this guy, eh?" Another heartbeat as he observes the man's gut as it jiggles. "on second thought, he already did."
"I use a bow, I shoot things, then I stab them to make sure they're dead out of mercy. That is, I do that when at a distance. Very effective against deer, birds, and sometimes wolves, BUT-" Creach says, waving a drumstick in the direction of the professor, "Bears and boars are not so easy. When faced with brute strength, I find the best way to combat it is with speed and evasion. When charged by a boar, you won't have time to draw your bow. You need close combat weapons to slice them up." He finishes, taking a bite out of his drumstick.
Farewell.
"Who needs to fight when ya can avoid one altogether, yeah? I'm not really a fan of violence!" Says Aran after a belch.
"And that's why, in the wild, you would be the first to die." Creach says, wiping his mouth and taking a drink from a cup, before realizing that that wasn't his cup, and that he apparently doesn't like whiskey.
Farewell.
The professor smiles at Creach, “and who taught you the use of the bow or the knife? You know, every culture has their own style of combat training, with their own strengths and weaknesses. And within the cultures, each practitioner has their own idiosyncrasies which color their training and style. I can imagine that with enough observation and research one could name the culture and even the trainer a person learned from just by watching them fight. Hmmm I’ll have to remember that.” He pulls a large book out of his pack and a quill and makes a short note in the book before putting them away.
“I specialize in close combat techniques but am no stranger to ranged combat styles either. I guarantee, with 5 minutes of training I can give you a few pointers that’ll have you shooting straighter and hitting harder. As skilled as I’m sure you are, the world is full of different fighting styles and techniques that all have their strengths and weaknesses. I’ve made it my life’s work to study them all. Perhaps some day I can observe your form and offer some suggestions?”
Noob
"A man that rejects criticism is blind to his own weakness. I would be delighted to study with you. But uhh... what's 'idiosynchrasy'?" Creach asks, savouring the word on his tongue.
Farewell.
"Says the guy getting his cups mixed up." Chortles Aran. There's a beat, and then he's getting a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peers into his own cup. In it is a spicy liquid. The kind that makes your eyes water. As the talk goes on, Aran hopes to take advantage of this distraction, in an effort to switch cups with Creach. Did he succeed?
Awaiting the answer before informing Kaicius that Creach is a minor.
Farewell.
(Aran been drinking since he was seventeen)
Sleight of Hand check if it's needed: 20. Not a nat.
Perception check: 18
Well that didn't turn out the way I had hoped.
Farewell.
Thad chuckles and smiles at the young hunter. “Well said young man, well said! And forgive my big words. I sometimes use large words to hide my small ideas. Idiosyncrasies are like small differences or personal traits. For example, two deer may be similar in appearance but one may be more cautious but another more bold and adventurous.”
Noob