"You speak in riddles, as they always do." Hugeo simply states the truth. Now, it felt like a waste of time. It's great that a weapon capable of destroying the Baron might exist, if the reading is true, but not very helpful if he doesn't know where it lies. He tries to remember if there's any place where a worm's bones are, perhaps one of the great Wastebones. Though, even if he manages to remember, will he know where to look on such a large place?
Intelligence check to remember: 10. Equal bonus to all of them.
Hugeo moves back towards the door as well. "If any of you have a clue as to where we can start, that would be a great time to mention it."
Dusty mutters and ponders, then paces and wonders, "the meanings of predictions are never concise, and I get it, they don't demand belief, they are what they are whether you believe or not, but tell me Lord Arc.." As Dusty continues he stops pacing and places a coin on the table, pushing forward the silver ten cents he was gifted by Marcus, "... is there any hint or notion of information you can give me on what drew me, and others of our kin, here to the wastes, I've sought it for some time, something important rests here, something only the elves can feel, but once I made my way here the draw became directionless, and therefore so did I.. I need this, I need to know. Please."
with hesitancy Dusty lifts his hand and backs away from the table leaving the coin where it lays, He waits, looking slightly despondent and without his usual carefree smug grin, for others to ask their questions whilst patiently waiting for answers to his own.
Lord Arc nods along as Cormac speaks. When he finishes, the seer speaks a few words in an unknown tongue, and his eye lights up, albeit far less bright than before. Strangely, a sort of golden afterimage appears around him, except it moves before he does, instead of after. He breathes heavily, but rather than with pain, it seems to be with... fear? "Ye have nae relation to the Baron, my friend, not even one of his thralls. Your genesis lies... elsewhere. This... can't be right. I see... royal blood in ye. That is all I can give you, I'm afraid."
Hugeo:
Racking your brains, you think of all the great wastebones that scatter the Waste. The great tortoise of Anth'Tkur and Hollowhome? No... the coils of the Ribcage? No, that's a snake, not a worm. Ah! You recall a wastebone, not well known because of its size, but because of its unusual make. Rather than being regular bones, like... well, wastebones, there is a wastebone that takes the form of a great worm's exoskeleton, though only a small bit is present above the surface. You're not sure of its location, though, it's certainly not incrediby close.
Dusty:
Lord Arc does nothing but smile, take the coin, and flip it. It arcs up, up, up, briefly pauses in the air, showing the Baron's smiling face stamped onto its side, before sailing down to the table... and landing perfectly on its side. He then promptly shoos you all out, closing the curtains behind you.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
After the curtains shut and the group is shooed away, Dusty stands for a moment next to the unmoving division between himself and the fortune teller.
"Dante.. Arc.."
His words play with the name as if figuring something out, before resigning himself to the eviction..
"I have a strong feeling this is not the last time we will meet" He loudly states toward the curtain, before turning to face the group
"so? any ideas? is it back to the bar or do we stick around here and find some fun? What's the betting that this whole 'M' thing was a trap anyway and we'll go find Marcus and all the others collected there, dead and gone, or worse, undead and still there?" Dusty chuckles at this last point and looks around the circus to see if anything strikes him as odd or important.
"You know, now that I think of it, I do remember passing by a peculiar Wastebone in the past. It was, rather than bone, an exoskeleton of an enormous worm. Could it be where the weapon is hidden?"He speaks to nobody in particular, or perhaps to himself, but then shakes his head. "But, anyway, I don't remember where it is, and even if I did, I have no way to get there."Probably. Things are much harder when you don't have a way to traverse the rails.
"I think we should go back. Perhaps only to confirm whether it was really a trap or not. If Marcus is still alive and there, then it is not likely to have been a trap, I'd say."
"A stranger to the wastes thinking he knows its ways."
The dragonborn lifted a scaled brow and neatly folded his arms over pristinely polished armor. "And a native to the wastes thinking his ways are worth following," he clearly said without a moment's hesitation.
He casted his stern gaze over the fortuneteller, tail scraping over the wooden floor in idle, swishing movements. "The only indication your readings hold truth is the fact you neglected a request for payment. Regardless of the stake you hold in this conflict between ourselves and the baron, I thank you for the effort and reading." Isoldus's eyes narrowed into golden slits. "Your word is known, acknowledged, and accepted. Only time may tell if your words are true, though on the off chance they are - has your sight gleaned any other of my kind in these wastes?" Isoldus sternly asked. Magicians and weavers of fate were, in Isoldus's experience, always worth treating with suspicion - Dante included, though a show of apparent benevolence would not go unheard in Isoldus's mind.
Regardless of the answer, Isoldus treated Dante to a polite bow, a gesture suited more for a knight's court than the lawless wastes. Isoldus is a man of manners and politeness; respect is important to the dragonborn. Honor is imperative.
Isoldus's heavy, scaled shoulders heaved in a shrug as the party exited. "As far as I am concerned, we have been hired for a job. I plan to fulfill the assigned duty. You are welcome to accompany me - on the way, perhaps we can test the validity of the oracle's promises."
Cormac raises a brow at this, pausing in thought as he tries to figure out just how to process what he is being told. His hand moves to run through his beard slowly as he nods. "Then me ma was selling the story short. Told people she was the whore of the baron itself to get her way. But who knows maybe she is the one with the royal blood." It was clear he was skeptical at the last part as he shakes his head, moving to step aside with his mechanical hound.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
All that you see are performers affected by the same melancholy gloom that hangs over all the Waste, and their signs, booths, and stages that suggest their various professions. Jugglers, singers, sword swallowers, musicians, and one man with a peculiarly pleasant expression and a short perm, smiling and painting a few happy little clouds over a happy little landscape.
Isoldus:
"I need nae magic t' tell ye that others of your kind exist on the Sands, hither and thither. But whether and where ye'll find them, that's another thing."
(I will move us back to town and the Wormblood tavern in the morning, I had a surprise irl D&D session that I didn't even know was happening(despite being the DM) that unfortunately drew me away from you all.)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Looking around at his stoic and somewhat guarded companions, Dusty gives a nod to those who mentioned leaving to the tavern.
Turning to see the smile on the painters face fills Dusty with some amusement and he begins playing an upbeat travelling tune on his harmonica as he follows toward the transport.
Finished at the Cirque, you all head back to the car where the handcar was anchored, and the three performers are still waiting there. They take you back to Pointer's railport before slowly rolling back to the circus train. You walk through the town, intent on heading back to the Wormblood tavern. On your way there, you're all walking through a rather tight gap between two uneven rows of houses, and find yourselves stuck behind an old, rather primly dressed woman, pushing a cart. As she goes, she rolls up to the doors of various houses, knocking heavily at their doors. "Genuine mole oil," she shouts as she pounds at the doors, "Just one dollar a bottle! Cures what ails ya!" As she pound at the doors, she holds up a bottle of dark liquid, with white flecks suspended in its viscous blackness. Most people don't answer, but those who do perform the transaction briefly and wordlessly, handing the woman a dollar bill and grabbing the "mole oil" with a shaking hand.
(If you choose to do nothing here, you can get around the woman after a bit, when the road widens a bit)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Cormac raises a brow at the old woman, shaking his head as he has witnessed such peddlers before. Merely for a bit of amusement he will pull out a dollar and head over to the cart. "I'll take one if ya think it can help. Been feeling a bit sick the last few days."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
The old woman briefly peers at you with apprehension, but after a moment or two, her face breaks out in a wide, grandmotherly smile, revealing a large number of missing teeth, the ones remaining bring rather yellow-brown and sickly looking.
”Of course, of course, three bottles coming right up! If you’re lookin’ to ward off the undead, mole oil’ll certainly do the trick! As everyone knows, undead can smell the living through their naturally produced body odor. Apply a third of the bottle under your arms, then drink the rest, and you’ll be producing quite a different scent!”
The crone fishes out two labeled bottles, noticeably smaller than the one she was waving it out, and hands one to Cormac and two to Kronk.
”Make sure to use the whole bottle, or else it won’t have any effect!”
The sale finished, the old lady begins rolling the cart down a side alley if no one else makes a purchase, freeing the street up for you all to pass, if you choose to.
Hugeo shrugs. Scam or not, this isn't something he would need... probably. If the undead can smell metal, then he'll find a different way to hide that scent. Either way, he's ready to continue. "Let's resume our ride. But, also, start thinking of what we can do if Marcus didn't meet M or an undead army while we were gone. Even if it were just a prank, a group like this could perhaps be the best chance each of us would ever get to stick the Baron's dead-dead body into the sands."
You notice a few errors in the woman's claims. Despite claiming this mole oil is a cure-all, her nasty, brown teeth seem to suggest otherwise. Additionally, though she promised Kronk that it would ward off undead, she noticeably ignored Cormac in that despite his rather obvious semi-vampirism.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Isoldus's gaze fixated over the woman - and, primarily, the nature of her transactions with her customers. Sensing something amiss, or - at the very least - some trickery with the woman's ways, Isoldus calmly stepped forwards, claws and tail leaving deep grooves in the sand behind.
"Why are the people you hand your vials to as desperate as they are? I haven't exactly seen a plague of undead roaming these areas." Insight? 21
"Why, mole oil isn't only used to ward off undead! It'll cure all your troubles, bring you away from the hardships and madness of this world. These people are so desperate because they know it works, and they know this world's evil, and they know they want relief."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
"You speak in riddles, as they always do." Hugeo simply states the truth. Now, it felt like a waste of time. It's great that a weapon capable of destroying the Baron might exist, if the reading is true, but not very helpful if he doesn't know where it lies. He tries to remember if there's any place where a worm's bones are, perhaps one of the great Wastebones. Though, even if he manages to remember, will he know where to look on such a large place?
Intelligence check to remember: 10. Equal bonus to all of them.
Hugeo moves back towards the door as well. "If any of you have a clue as to where we can start, that would be a great time to mention it."
Varielky | Emma
" A Blessed relic,
An enemy's enemy,
A great weapon,
A cask of Knowledge,
And a playing card..?"
Dusty mutters and ponders, then paces and wonders, "the meanings of predictions are never concise, and I get it, they don't demand belief, they are what they are whether you believe or not, but tell me Lord Arc.." As Dusty continues he stops pacing and places a coin on the table, pushing forward the silver ten cents he was gifted by Marcus, "... is there any hint or notion of information you can give me on what drew me, and others of our kin, here to the wastes, I've sought it for some time, something important rests here, something only the elves can feel, but once I made my way here the draw became directionless, and therefore so did I.. I need this, I need to know. Please."
with hesitancy Dusty lifts his hand and backs away from the table leaving the coin where it lays, He waits, looking slightly despondent and without his usual carefree smug grin, for others to ask their questions whilst patiently waiting for answers to his own.
Travin Tiller, Junk Dweller Bard, AURYN.
The Ironmaiden, Questionable Artificer, Descent into Avernus.
DM, Peacekeepers of Northmorrah
Cormac:
Lord Arc nods along as Cormac speaks. When he finishes, the seer speaks a few words in an unknown tongue, and his eye lights up, albeit far less bright than before. Strangely, a sort of golden afterimage appears around him, except it moves before he does, instead of after. He breathes heavily, but rather than with pain, it seems to be with... fear?
"Ye have nae relation to the Baron, my friend, not even one of his thralls. Your genesis lies... elsewhere. This... can't be right. I see... royal blood in ye. That is all I can give you, I'm afraid."
Hugeo:
Racking your brains, you think of all the great wastebones that scatter the Waste. The great tortoise of Anth'Tkur and Hollowhome? No... the coils of the Ribcage? No, that's a snake, not a worm. Ah! You recall a wastebone, not well known because of its size, but because of its unusual make. Rather than being regular bones, like... well, wastebones, there is a wastebone that takes the form of a great worm's exoskeleton, though only a small bit is present above the surface. You're not sure of its location, though, it's certainly not incrediby close.
Dusty:
Lord Arc does nothing but smile, take the coin, and flip it. It arcs up, up, up, briefly pauses in the air, showing the Baron's smiling face stamped onto its side, before sailing down to the table... and landing perfectly on its side. He then promptly shoos you all out, closing the curtains behind you.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
(I’ll move things along once I get home, if no one has anything else they want to do here)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
After the curtains shut and the group is shooed away, Dusty stands for a moment next to the unmoving division between himself and the fortune teller.
"Dante.. Arc.."
His words play with the name as if figuring something out, before resigning himself to the eviction..
"I have a strong feeling this is not the last time we will meet" He loudly states toward the curtain, before turning to face the group
"so? any ideas? is it back to the bar or do we stick around here and find some fun? What's the betting that this whole 'M' thing was a trap anyway and we'll go find Marcus and all the others collected there, dead and gone, or worse, undead and still there?" Dusty chuckles at this last point and looks around the circus to see if anything strikes him as odd or important.
Perception, if needed, 9
Travin Tiller, Junk Dweller Bard, AURYN.
The Ironmaiden, Questionable Artificer, Descent into Avernus.
DM, Peacekeepers of Northmorrah
"You know, now that I think of it, I do remember passing by a peculiar Wastebone in the past. It was, rather than bone, an exoskeleton of an enormous worm. Could it be where the weapon is hidden?" He speaks to nobody in particular, or perhaps to himself, but then shakes his head. "But, anyway, I don't remember where it is, and even if I did, I have no way to get there." Probably. Things are much harder when you don't have a way to traverse the rails.
"I think we should go back. Perhaps only to confirm whether it was really a trap or not. If Marcus is still alive and there, then it is not likely to have been a trap, I'd say."
Varielky | Emma
The dragonborn lifted a scaled brow and neatly folded his arms over pristinely polished armor. "And a native to the wastes thinking his ways are worth following," he clearly said without a moment's hesitation.
He casted his stern gaze over the fortuneteller, tail scraping over the wooden floor in idle, swishing movements. "The only indication your readings hold truth is the fact you neglected a request for payment. Regardless of the stake you hold in this conflict between ourselves and the baron, I thank you for the effort and reading." Isoldus's eyes narrowed into golden slits. "Your word is known, acknowledged, and accepted. Only time may tell if your words are true, though on the off chance they are - has your sight gleaned any other of my kind in these wastes?" Isoldus sternly asked. Magicians and weavers of fate were, in Isoldus's experience, always worth treating with suspicion - Dante included, though a show of apparent benevolence would not go unheard in Isoldus's mind.
Regardless of the answer, Isoldus treated Dante to a polite bow, a gesture suited more for a knight's court than the lawless wastes. Isoldus is a man of manners and politeness; respect is important to the dragonborn. Honor is imperative.
Isoldus's heavy, scaled shoulders heaved in a shrug as the party exited. "As far as I am concerned, we have been hired for a job. I plan to fulfill the assigned duty. You are welcome to accompany me - on the way, perhaps we can test the validity of the oracle's promises."
Cormac raises a brow at this, pausing in thought as he tries to figure out just how to process what he is being told. His hand moves to run through his beard slowly as he nods. "Then me ma was selling the story short. Told people she was the whore of the baron itself to get her way. But who knows maybe she is the one with the royal blood." It was clear he was skeptical at the last part as he shakes his head, moving to step aside with his mechanical hound.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Dusty:
All that you see are performers affected by the same melancholy gloom that hangs over all the Waste, and their signs, booths, and stages that suggest their various professions. Jugglers, singers, sword swallowers, musicians, and one man with a peculiarly pleasant expression and a short perm, smiling and painting a few happy little clouds over a happy little landscape.
Isoldus:
"I need nae magic t' tell ye that others of your kind exist on the Sands, hither and thither. But whether and where ye'll find them, that's another thing."
(I will move us back to town and the Wormblood tavern in the morning, I had a surprise irl D&D session that I didn't even know was happening(despite being the DM) that unfortunately drew me away from you all.)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Looking around at his stoic and somewhat guarded companions, Dusty gives a nod to those who mentioned leaving to the tavern.
Turning to see the smile on the painters face fills Dusty with some amusement and he begins playing an upbeat travelling tune on his harmonica as he follows toward the transport.
Travin Tiller, Junk Dweller Bard, AURYN.
The Ironmaiden, Questionable Artificer, Descent into Avernus.
DM, Peacekeepers of Northmorrah
Finished at the Cirque, you all head back to the car where the handcar was anchored, and the three performers are still waiting there. They take you back to Pointer's railport before slowly rolling back to the circus train. You walk through the town, intent on heading back to the Wormblood tavern. On your way there, you're all walking through a rather tight gap between two uneven rows of houses, and find yourselves stuck behind an old, rather primly dressed woman, pushing a cart. As she goes, she rolls up to the doors of various houses, knocking heavily at their doors.
"Genuine mole oil," she shouts as she pounds at the doors, "Just one dollar a bottle! Cures what ails ya!"
As she pound at the doors, she holds up a bottle of dark liquid, with white flecks suspended in its viscous blackness. Most people don't answer, but those who do perform the transaction briefly and wordlessly, handing the woman a dollar bill and grabbing the "mole oil" with a shaking hand.
(If you choose to do nothing here, you can get around the woman after a bit, when the road widens a bit)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Cormac raises a brow at the old woman, shaking his head as he has witnessed such peddlers before. Merely for a bit of amusement he will pull out a dollar and head over to the cart. "I'll take one if ya think it can help. Been feeling a bit sick the last few days."
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
9
Kronk pads up to the old woman, sniffs the air, “Smell no evil. Two to take we will,” he says in a low voice and hands over two dollars.
”What is best way to be using this Old Mother,” his asks in a surprisingly respectful tone. “Might you have anything walking deaders don’t like.?”
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
The old woman briefly peers at you with apprehension, but after a moment or two, her face breaks out in a wide, grandmotherly smile, revealing a large number of missing teeth, the ones remaining bring rather yellow-brown and sickly looking.
”Of course, of course, three bottles coming right up! If you’re lookin’ to ward off the undead, mole oil’ll certainly do the trick! As everyone knows, undead can smell the living through their naturally produced body odor. Apply a third of the bottle under your arms, then drink the rest, and you’ll be producing quite a different scent!”
The crone fishes out two labeled bottles, noticeably smaller than the one she was waving it out, and hands one to Cormac and two to Kronk.
”Make sure to use the whole bottle, or else it won’t have any effect!”
The sale finished, the old lady begins rolling the cart down a side alley if no one else makes a purchase, freeing the street up for you all to pass, if you choose to.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Hugeo shrugs. Scam or not, this isn't something he would need... probably. If the undead can smell metal, then he'll find a different way to hide that scent. Either way, he's ready to continue. "Let's resume our ride. But, also, start thinking of what we can do if Marcus didn't meet M or an undead army while we were gone. Even if it were just a prank, a group like this could perhaps be the best chance each of us would ever get to stick the Baron's dead-dead body into the sands."
Varielky | Emma
Winchester raises an eyebrow at the lady, but otherwise tries to keep a straight face while assessing the situation.
Insight: 17
Winchester:
You notice a few errors in the woman's claims. Despite claiming this mole oil is a cure-all, her nasty, brown teeth seem to suggest otherwise. Additionally, though she promised Kronk that it would ward off undead, she noticeably ignored Cormac in that despite his rather obvious semi-vampirism.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Isoldus's gaze fixated over the woman - and, primarily, the nature of her transactions with her customers. Sensing something amiss, or - at the very least - some trickery with the woman's ways, Isoldus calmly stepped forwards, claws and tail leaving deep grooves in the sand behind.
"Why are the people you hand your vials to as desperate as they are? I haven't exactly seen a plague of undead roaming these areas." Insight? 21
Isoldus:
"Why, mole oil isn't only used to ward off undead! It'll cure all your troubles, bring you away from the hardships and madness of this world. These people are so desperate because they know it works, and they know this world's evil, and they know they want relief."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Kronk looks at the woman, “Does it burning?” he asks waving the two bottles in one, very large, hand.
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.