After relaxing for a time Clarion realizes he may have come across a bit snippy. He addresses Wracoria: "So Dragonborn, I don't remember if you have told us your name? What brings you into these parts away from your clan? Most Dragonborn are loath to leave their upbringing."
"I am not like most dragonborn in that regard" Wracoria replies "There was one other like me in my clan, who once traveled the world, and brought back a journal of the many wonders it had to offer. But that was long ago, hundreds of years at least. When I stumbled upon his writings I wanted nothing else but to see such things with my own eyes. The borders of our enclave were indeed safe and comforting and I can understand why so many live their entire lives behind them, but I've found I much prefer the thrilling freedom of adventure myself."
With this, Wracoria turns to Trick. "So, mischievous halfling, I believe you are the only one I have yet to be introduced to. I am Wracoria, of the Yurthid clan. What has brought you to this place?"
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Roleplaying is serious business!
Player Introduction (external link) Current games: - Lost Mines of Phandelver (DnD Beyond) OOC not public - IC thread - playing as Wracoria Yurthid (Female Dragonborn Fighter [CG])
Crane smiles as Wracoria's use of the word 'artful', happy to take the compliment, and doesn't bother with raining on Callista's fire parade. Such a thing, she's sure, will be useful in a fight - Crane's papercrafts perhaps somewhat less so. She's quite content with the crew.
"As I'm sure most of us are," She nods, "I don't think that a man of means like Rockseeker has any need of charity, and so we should be happy to take him for the exorbitant fee that he's offered. I've got to say that I think this whole shebang will be a walk in the park for us, if what I've heard about you all is true."
Maybe one day, she'd have to light the halfling up, but not today. She was trying hard not to set fire to people. Somewhat hard. Drumming her restless fingertips on the table's edge, she nearly snorted at the uptight human's name. It seemed fluffier for a man that was a cold-blooded killer. Better for her to have him grudging against dwarves than her kind.
Shuddering delicately, at the thought, of a lone journal gracing Scales' clan. For someone used to libraries; spending a lifetime in a place that had a singular tome was akin to torture. "If you go back, you should take more books back with you."
Clarion likes Crane but she can be a bit forward at times. This can be good and bad depending on the situation. He catalogs the information for future reference. As time passes he feels restless and wants to do something ... wait, he remembers information he has heard about Crane and decides a little entertainment might make the time pass more pleasantly. "So Bird, do you have your dulcimer around? Play us a tune. I understand you can charm the gold from under a Dragon with that thing."
Callista recoiled from the touch--feather-light and short, though it was. It had been a popular spot in her childhood, when others teased her spitefully, often knocking on her head, horns or the juncture from where her horns arose. "Hands off the goods, Crane." Her tone was mild, yet had an sharp layer underneath it. A welcome suggestion arose from Stone-Cold. "Oh yes, a song is a good price to pay."
Trick audibly groans and somehow manages to curl into an even smaller ball. His hands reach up to cover his ears. "Oh gods, is this really about to happen?"
"Ah,"Crane smiles, waggling her finger a little and taking a sip of her ale, "Unfortunately my instrument is separate from me at this time. But fear not, I'll happily serenade you all as we make our way to Phandalin! From what I hear there's much to play about-- Like the fact that you once saved a Princess of some sort, Clarion? Is that true? I'd love to hear the tale."
Clarion sighed, stretch his legs out, put his hands behind his head elbows out and remembered better days. Before he had 'Tumbled" even further away from his youth. "Nothing in it for me, I just lead the Elves through the forest, they did all the dirty work. The orcs met elven blades and it was over before it began. Tracking through the forest is like breathing for me. I can sense the direction of movement almost before the 'mark' has turned that way. Just a knack. Eonya was her name. Sweet thing, had been traveling towards a festival when they were overtaken by orcs. Had taken a wrong turn that kept them out past dark. You know how orcs are. Don't want to be out past dark in the wrong woods. Lord H'valdriev, that would be her father, got there just in time. Orcs had stopped and were bartering for Eonya's scalp when they meet the elven blades, efficient those blades!"
"That is a wonderful story, Tumble"says Wracoria. "Do you have any more like it? Telling tales would be a wonderful way to pass the time on our journey ahead."
Wracoria pauses for a moment before continuing "speaking of which, perhaps we should begin our preparations. I know I could use a few more supplies myself."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Roleplaying is serious business!
Player Introduction (external link) Current games: - Lost Mines of Phandelver (DnD Beyond) OOC not public - IC thread - playing as Wracoria Yurthid (Female Dragonborn Fighter [CG])
"Yes, please. Let's go." At this, Trick slides off his chair, now just barely above table height. His cloak billows slightly, concealing his entire body aside from his face and his dirty feet. He calls over to Madame Rosene, the loudest you've heard his voice to this point. "Is this 'Mitch' here yet?"
Delightful. It looked like her nickname for the bard was being picked up by the rest. Stone-Cold made the suitable mash of a heroic story. No doubt, it would make a nice little ditty for a bard hoping to expand their repertoire. Anyone and everyone loved tales of saving pretty elvish maidens; Callista had yet not heard of anyone saving any lasses distinctly un-Elvish.
Supplies? Oh yes, they needed all sorts of things like rations, didn't they? Like a cat, she arched her back, and languidly stood from her seat. "And where is the nearest general store?"she asked after the halfling. Pointing her thumb towards their dragonborn, "Scales here, needs supplies."
Madame Rosene looks up from speaking with a patron at the bar, and looks out the window. "Ah, that bald man right there is Mitch. He don't speak much, had his tongue ripped out a few years ago, or so they say." She gives a little chuckle to the man she was previously talking to. "And for supplies, depends what ya need. You can buy rations and drink from me, but if you're needing more you're going to have to go down the road. The Light Traveler will probably have anything else ya need. It's a couple block up and on the left." Then turning back to her work of pouring ale and gossiping with the common folk sitting at the bar.
Outside of the tavern your group can see an older bald man, hunched over tying to horses to a hitching post. Once the horses are secured the man begins moving about the wagon and making sure things are tied down securely and everything is in place. Once he is done securing the wagon he makes his way into the bar, and raises his hand up to Madam Rosene, then make a few hand gestures and some kind of mumbling. Rosene then nods and looks at your group, "Mitch says he's ready to relinquish the wagon to you lot. Also at least one of you is going to need to guide the horses. It's a simple enough task they're pretty trained. I used Dusty and Musty to move the my sister."
"I'll lead the animals. Animals seem to like me. We can stop at the Light Traveler for anyone who needs to pick up a few items before we go. Wonderful, let us make tracks!" Clarion jumps up, grabs his things and heads out to meet Dusty and Musty.
Once outside of the tavern, Crane sighs in relief. This whole cloaked mysterious figure thing was not her cup of tea, and it was getting way too stuffy -- but of course, sacrifices needed to be made in order to get what she wanted and needed. In a motion she sluffs off the cloak, revealing a short human woman with yellow-brown hued skin and dark hair cut at an angle short at the ears, and long towards the back.
"I'll meet you all at the Light Traveler, just need to grab a few things."
"Little bit of that reason, little bit of of my own,"Crane gestures, making her behind someone's home, "Anything I need is perfectly findable..." She shifts a wheelbarrow of soil, and then begins piling logs cut for firewood next to it, one by one. "If you know where to look--" And as she unpiles and repiles the logs there's a box of something stacked within them. She pulls it free once enough logs have been moved, and opens it to reveal a hand-crafted dulcimer - definitely worn, with one of the strings snapped - and a small rucksack of personal belongings.
"I'm sure you understand,"She hefts the bag over her shoulder, and then slides the strap of the dulcimer over her other arm. "So is it true then, Trick?"
Seeing the worn dulcimer, Trick sighs and begins ruffling through his pack. As he does so, he asks, "Is what true?" He locates a bundle of string from the bag and, using his dagger, cuts off about a foot-length of it. He holds it out by the end, offering it to Crane but being careful not to make physical contact. "Here. Probably not the right type of string, but it's functional. It sounds like I'm going to have to hear you play at some point, so it might as well be with an instrument that works," he mutters.
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After relaxing for a time Clarion realizes he may have come across a bit snippy. He addresses Wracoria: "So Dragonborn, I don't remember if you have told us your name? What brings you into these parts away from your clan? Most Dragonborn are loath to leave their upbringing."
Lot's of stuff ...
"I am not like most dragonborn in that regard" Wracoria replies "There was one other like me in my clan, who once traveled the world, and brought back a journal of the many wonders it had to offer. But that was long ago, hundreds of years at least. When I stumbled upon his writings I wanted nothing else but to see such things with my own eyes. The borders of our enclave were indeed safe and comforting and I can understand why so many live their entire lives behind them, but I've found I much prefer the thrilling freedom of adventure myself."
With this, Wracoria turns to Trick. "So, mischievous halfling, I believe you are the only one I have yet to be introduced to. I am Wracoria, of the Yurthid clan. What has brought you to this place?"
Roleplaying is serious business!
Player Introduction (external link)
Current games:
- Lost Mines of Phandelver (DnD Beyond) OOC not public - IC thread
- playing as Wracoria Yurthid (Female Dragonborn Fighter [CG])
Trick's response is short and gruff. "Money."
Crane smiles as Wracoria's use of the word 'artful', happy to take the compliment, and doesn't bother with raining on Callista's fire parade. Such a thing, she's sure, will be useful in a fight - Crane's papercrafts perhaps somewhat less so. She's quite content with the crew.
"As I'm sure most of us are," She nods, "I don't think that a man of means like Rockseeker has any need of charity, and so we should be happy to take him for the exorbitant fee that he's offered. I've got to say that I think this whole shebang will be a walk in the park for us, if what I've heard about you all is true."
Maybe one day, she'd have to light the halfling up, but not today. She was trying hard not to set fire to people. Somewhat hard. Drumming her restless fingertips on the table's edge, she nearly snorted at the uptight human's name. It seemed fluffier for a man that was a cold-blooded killer. Better for her to have him grudging against dwarves than her kind.
Shuddering delicately, at the thought, of a lone journal gracing Scales' clan. For someone used to libraries; spending a lifetime in a place that had a singular tome was akin to torture. "If you go back, you should take more books back with you."
"You jinxed us, Bird".
Timezone: GMT +2
Classic Crawl: The Lost City: Zanna Sparkglass | Wizard (1)
"Then allow me to knock on wood," Crane smirks, leaning over the table and tapping Callista's forehead with a feather-light touch.
Clarion likes Crane but she can be a bit forward at times. This can be good and bad depending on the situation. He catalogs the information for future reference. As time passes he feels restless and wants to do something ... wait, he remembers information he has heard about Crane and decides a little entertainment might make the time pass more pleasantly. "So Bird, do you have your dulcimer around? Play us a tune. I understand you can charm the gold from under a Dragon with that thing."
Lot's of stuff ...
Callista recoiled from the touch--feather-light and short, though it was. It had been a popular spot in her childhood, when others teased her spitefully, often knocking on her head, horns or the juncture from where her horns arose. "Hands off the goods, Crane." Her tone was mild, yet had an sharp layer underneath it. A welcome suggestion arose from Stone-Cold. "Oh yes, a song is a good price to pay."
Timezone: GMT +2
Classic Crawl: The Lost City: Zanna Sparkglass | Wizard (1)
Trick audibly groans and somehow manages to curl into an even smaller ball. His hands reach up to cover his ears. "Oh gods, is this really about to happen?"
"Ah," Crane smiles, waggling her finger a little and taking a sip of her ale, "Unfortunately my instrument is separate from me at this time. But fear not, I'll happily serenade you all as we make our way to Phandalin! From what I hear there's much to play about-- Like the fact that you once saved a Princess of some sort, Clarion? Is that true? I'd love to hear the tale."
Clarion sighed, stretch his legs out, put his hands behind his head elbows out and remembered better days. Before he had 'Tumbled" even further away from his youth. "Nothing in it for me, I just lead the Elves through the forest, they did all the dirty work. The orcs met elven blades and it was over before it began. Tracking through the forest is like breathing for me. I can sense the direction of movement almost before the 'mark' has turned that way. Just a knack. Eonya was her name. Sweet thing, had been traveling towards a festival when they were overtaken by orcs. Had taken a wrong turn that kept them out past dark. You know how orcs are. Don't want to be out past dark in the wrong woods. Lord H'valdriev, that would be her father, got there just in time. Orcs had stopped and were bartering for Eonya's scalp when they meet the elven blades, efficient those blades!"
Lot's of stuff ...
"That is a wonderful story, Tumble" says Wracoria. "Do you have any more like it? Telling tales would be a wonderful way to pass the time on our journey ahead."
Wracoria pauses for a moment before continuing "speaking of which, perhaps we should begin our preparations. I know I could use a few more supplies myself."
Roleplaying is serious business!
Player Introduction (external link)
Current games:
- Lost Mines of Phandelver (DnD Beyond) OOC not public - IC thread
- playing as Wracoria Yurthid (Female Dragonborn Fighter [CG])
"Yes, please. Let's go." At this, Trick slides off his chair, now just barely above table height. His cloak billows slightly, concealing his entire body aside from his face and his dirty feet. He calls over to Madame Rosene, the loudest you've heard his voice to this point. "Is this 'Mitch' here yet?"
Delightful. It looked like her nickname for the bard was being picked up by the rest. Stone-Cold made the suitable mash of a heroic story. No doubt, it would make a nice little ditty for a bard hoping to expand their repertoire. Anyone and everyone loved tales of saving pretty elvish maidens; Callista had yet not heard of anyone saving any lasses distinctly un-Elvish.
Supplies? Oh yes, they needed all sorts of things like rations, didn't they? Like a cat, she arched her back, and languidly stood from her seat. "And where is the nearest general store?" she asked after the halfling. Pointing her thumb towards their dragonborn, "Scales here, needs supplies."
Timezone: GMT +2
Classic Crawl: The Lost City: Zanna Sparkglass | Wizard (1)
Madame Rosene looks up from speaking with a patron at the bar, and looks out the window. "Ah, that bald man right there is Mitch. He don't speak much, had his tongue ripped out a few years ago, or so they say." She gives a little chuckle to the man she was previously talking to. "And for supplies, depends what ya need. You can buy rations and drink from me, but if you're needing more you're going to have to go down the road. The Light Traveler will probably have anything else ya need. It's a couple block up and on the left." Then turning back to her work of pouring ale and gossiping with the common folk sitting at the bar.
Outside of the tavern your group can see an older bald man, hunched over tying to horses to a hitching post. Once the horses are secured the man begins moving about the wagon and making sure things are tied down securely and everything is in place. Once he is done securing the wagon he makes his way into the bar, and raises his hand up to Madam Rosene, then make a few hand gestures and some kind of mumbling. Rosene then nods and looks at your group, "Mitch says he's ready to relinquish the wagon to you lot. Also at least one of you is going to need to guide the horses. It's a simple enough task they're pretty trained. I used Dusty and Musty to move the my sister."
DM - The Lost Mines of Phandelver
DM - Tales from Irileth: Korey ◆ Rook ◆ Grinner
"I'll lead the animals. Animals seem to like me. We can stop at the Light Traveler for anyone who needs to pick up a few items before we go. Wonderful, let us make tracks!" Clarion jumps up, grabs his things and heads out to meet Dusty and Musty.
Lot's of stuff ...
Once outside of the tavern, Crane sighs in relief. This whole cloaked mysterious figure thing was not her cup of tea, and it was getting way too stuffy -- but of course, sacrifices needed to be made in order to get what she wanted and needed. In a motion she sluffs off the cloak, revealing a short human woman with yellow-brown hued skin and dark hair cut at an angle short at the ears, and long towards the back.
"I'll meet you all at the Light Traveler, just need to grab a few things."
Trick hesitates. "I'm not exactly welcome at most shops around here. I'll meet up with you later." For the time being, he follows Crane around.
"I take it there are establishments that you're better off avoiding as well?" Trick smirks at the human. Maybe she isn't a Goody Two Shoes after all.
"Little bit of that reason, little bit of of my own," Crane gestures, making her behind someone's home, "Anything I need is perfectly findable..." She shifts a wheelbarrow of soil, and then begins piling logs cut for firewood next to it, one by one. "If you know where to look--" And as she unpiles and repiles the logs there's a box of something stacked within them. She pulls it free once enough logs have been moved, and opens it to reveal a hand-crafted dulcimer - definitely worn, with one of the strings snapped - and a small rucksack of personal belongings.
"I'm sure you understand," She hefts the bag over her shoulder, and then slides the strap of the dulcimer over her other arm. "So is it true then, Trick?"
Seeing the worn dulcimer, Trick sighs and begins ruffling through his pack. As he does so, he asks, "Is what true?" He locates a bundle of string from the bag and, using his dagger, cuts off about a foot-length of it. He holds it out by the end, offering it to Crane but being careful not to make physical contact. "Here. Probably not the right type of string, but it's functional. It sounds like I'm going to have to hear you play at some point, so it might as well be with an instrument that works," he mutters.