The party went on for longer than what had been planned, but that is usually a good sign. All invitees had a good time, socializing, eating, drinking, and engaging in general merriment for most of the night. There were also pockets of quiet time to be found, whenever anyone was so inclined. Overall, it was a great success! Next time, should CRAP aim higher and plan a gala, perhaps even the more noble of their allies will feel inclined to attend.
Dornal, Thokk, and CRAP had stayed behind for a bit, intent on cleaning up the place. The staff at the Velvet Double, all very professional and meticulously trained, would not entertain such offer, insisting instead that their patrons enjoyed the rest of their night. Dornal agreed to a point but insisted on at least being present while the place was cleaned out. He also made sure CRAP would see none of it, sending the adventuring party on their way home for the evening.
It is not a long walk between the Velvet Double and the Leadstopper Residence, but CRAP is in no rush to reach their headquarters. They stroll leisurely in the well-lit city streets this evening, enjoying the lingering sense of amusement left by the private celebration.
(OOC: As you stroll toward your home, please go ahead and describe what your characters may be doing and use this time to share any info you’d like with your fellow adventurers. This is also my chance to remind you to share a description of your characters, as some of you may look a little different now due to new gear, scars, or taste in attire. For example, what do those new tattoos look like?)
Inebriation slowly fading, Neya has a slightly unstable walk back home. She is dressed in a slight more upscale version of her usual attire. She rolled up her sleeves to cool off after the hard work of cleaning up, exposing the darker patterns of a tattoo. Overall, it is an array of smooth, irregular shapes that appear to have jagged edges. Near the end of the pattern on the top of her hand is a design that has the party's name on it that can be read from any angle. As the tatoo reachers her fingernails, it ends in what appear to be hooked claws. It glints off, almost silvery, of any stray light the group happens to pass by.
On her hip, is an empty scabbard. It is for a new longsword acquired from Rythnax's horde. The weapon itself, which she has dubbed "Lancet" is currently in the Leadstopper Residence. But, she has such a strong bond with it, she could summon it to her hand at a moment's notice (EK's Weapon Bond feature).
Thanking Dornal again for his hospitality, Utar reaffirms his commitment to the dwarf. Healing, should he need it, at the House of the Hand, and likely a favour too, Dornal only needs to ask.
Stepping out into cool night air, Utar gazes up at the stars above Phlan and listens to the noises of the town. It feels like home. Casting a look at the others around him, Utar remembers something he once learned: that a found family is just as strong as the one you're born to. Stronger even. He's glad to have found another here.
Clad in the simple robes he'd wear at the temple seemed approrpriate. He has finer robes, but this was a night with friends and a chance to be social. Besides the finery of those robes never sat well with him. Among the lords and ladies of high society it might be expected to look the part, but Utar was a soldier at heart and plain and simple suited him just fine. He had allowed himself a little freshen up of his appearance, his beard trimmed close and the sides of his head freshly shaved with his hair black hair pulled back.
Pulling his simple cleric robes tighter to his body, he feels the rough cloth press against the fresh tattoo that now occupied his right shoulder blade. Having taken the pauldron from his armour as reference, the half-orc now sported the same stylised white hand, added to his collection. Thinking back to their recent trip, Utar felt more on show with the dull purple of his neck scar sat on display, than of his other tattoos or semi-naked body.
At the tattoo parlour:
Sat waiting his turn in the tattooist's chair a few days ago, Utar looked over his own body. Thick, corded muscle covered his arms, back and shoulders, but his pot belly belied his growing fondness for the finer things in life. Three, thick bands circled his forearms, one just behind his wrist, one before his elbow and one at the mid-point between the two, each representing a level of his devotion to Torm and his church. The first upon entry, the second on his entry to the priesthood and the last upon taking up is current mantle as a roving cleric for hire. A rough looking patch of dwarven script encircled his right bicep, a nod to his younger, more impulsive days when he ran with the wrong crowd. Looking down at the writing brings a smirk to his face, still words to live by.
Indicating his preference for the tattoo to the artist, Utar takes his place, settling onto the artist's bench and grits his teeth for the familiar sting of the needle.
Doozey seemed perhaps even more relunctant about not staying behind to help clean up, remembering or realizing after the fact that the use of the location had originally been meant for more clandestine meetings. But if there was anything he'd remembered about one half of his ancestors, then it would be certainly not to bother arguing overly much with a dwarf! So he'd eventually concede with the promise of making it up to Dornal another time.
In thinking back to that moment once the party had departed, a soft smile easily bloomed on the halfling, when months ago he'd struggle to manage even a grin. If he'd thought about it all, drinking too much might've been the culprit. But then again, he'd just as quickly dismiss it, knowing better than to doubt the dwarven blood that still strongly flowed through his blood, as it had in many a Red Foot. But in even drifting close in thought to the matter, Doozey found himself absentmindedly drawn away from keeping an eye on his surroundings to study his own appearance.
The halfling appeared to have remained a far cry from being mistaken for a noble or person of some other affluent lifestyle. His usual patchwork blouse and pants had been replaced by a fresh, white lace-up top and ankle banded pants. And he even still wore boots instead of questionably not bloodstained foot wraps! He's also long since done away with the pig tails in favor of his usual ponytail, though the light brown curly mess of hair had grown long enough to reach the mid of his back. What few curly locks spilled off to the side did little to obscure the swirly band of tattoos curling around from behind his neck before seeming to fade towards the front. If anyone looked close enough, they'd even be able to make out the letters C-A-R-P hidden among the pattern.
His self-inspection comes to an abrupt end around the time his eyes began lingering on the missing pinky of his left hand, courtesy of a Berry swaying far into him. "Ugh, oi! Watch it now."He says while gently pushing the beast aside with a smirk. The mastiff somewhat sloppily apologizes, having managed to sneak a drink or two in between conversations. Berry then returns to talking Biscuit's ears off; who in turn seemed to be half-listening, but still amused by the string of random topics... while possibly carrying an unconscious Sagin, if the kobold had too much to drink this night! Gravy the brown feathered crow than finally alights on Doozey's shoulder, and much like Biscuit, appeared hardly change by their journey. "Ah, there you are. Thanks for keeping an eye out earlier." He says as fishes out some berries from his pocket to feed him. "Can't wait to be back me leather's again. Feel so naked without'em." He idly comments.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
(OOC: Great intros into this new episode, everyone!)
Graxx walks along with the rest of his companions. He'll be leaving soon with his tribesmen in a personal journey, but this night is still one where he can enjoy CRAP's company. He smiles silently as he taps the back of an overly inebriated kobold slumped over Biscuit's back. It has been a pleasant night for all, but some have clearly indulged more than others.
The group's walk back to the Leadstopper Residence is a calm and enjoyable one, that is, until they get near enough to realize that the front door is open and candlelight emanates from within.
Utar's pleasant amble through Phlan comes to a creaking halt. He stops dead in his tracks, looks at the open door then at the candlelight coming from within Leadstopper Manor.
His hand instinctively goes for Lightbringer but comes up disappointingly empty. His mind darts towards his own room, where his plate armour, shield and weapons lie following a through cleaning. Cursing himself, Utar feels the comforting weight of his holy symbol of Torm around his neck. "Even when I seem alone, you are there." he whispers to himself.
"If someone had laid a trap for us, better to have closed the door and keep us off-guard for as long as possible, right?"
Still, clutching his holy symbol, Utar readies himself.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Doozey stiffens and lets out a terse "Shh, Berry", finally quieting and confusing the Mastiff, before it eventually sunk in for the luquoacious magical beast. Instinctively, he'd then too reach for Apostle; but, as the full weight of his error dawns on him, Doozey switches to fishing out various magical implements that he'd stuffed away various belt pouches and pants pocket.
"I think about the same. But could just as well be an armature thief who'd been in too much of a hurry." He whispers back, earning a soft "boof" in agreement from Biscuit. Doozey then started to draw a little closer to the door, sniffing at the air searching for any familiar or foreign scents, and while taking care to stay out of direct view of it. If unable to discern anything that ease tensions or heighten them one way or another, he'd then whisper to Neya, "Hate to ask, but... were you expect'n guests?"
Neya knew there would be consequences for publicly announcing themselves. She wasn’t entirely surprised an intrusion has happened.
But what piques her curiosity is the nature of this particular incident. It’s too obvious. Either the most rank of amateur is at play or it is part of some more elaborate trap that she is not aware of. Maybe someone got lost and mistook their home as empty.
So many possibilities are running through her head is beginning to annoy her.
“We had not invited anyone before or during the festivities, to my knowledge.” She replied to Doozey.
Nevertheless, she prepares herself for what awaits.
CRAP exchanges looks and theories about what may be happening within Leadstopper Manor, though no particular suggestion seems to come out ahead in their guessing minds. As Doozey approaches for a closer sniff, he picks up the scent wet soil and eucalyptus.
"I have been waiting for you," a voice calls from inside, unclear if it was aimed at the entire adventuring party or a specific member. "Come in now and let's talk. If I wanted to hurt you, you know I wouldn't have made my presence so obvious."
(OOC: You may recognize the voice. Each of you should roll an insight check. The DC will vary per PC.)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The voice confirming Utar's suspicions that whoever is in there just wants to talk does nothing to settle the half-orc's nerves. Torm's holy symbol stays clutched in his hand but the cleric decides against performing any spells just yet.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The unexpected guest’s voice addressing them does little to soothe Neya’s concerns. But the call for truce and the itch of familiarity allows for some benefit of the doubt as she proceeds through the door.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Doozey wrinkles his nose at the scent, and tries his best to place it in the moment. Yet knowing either which way they'd need to deal with the intruder if they wanted their home back, he'd say a few quick words in halfling back at Biscuit and Berry, bidding them to stay outside and protect Sagin. Similar orders are given to Gravey as well, who takes flight and alights upon a nearby high perch to try and keep overwatch. With that all settled, he'd proceed inside with or without a firm conclusion to the source of the voice, but with nails sharpening and hair frizzing out at the edge from a barely restrained transformation.
@Doozey: Although you are pretty sure you never heard this voice, the inflection, confidence, and speech patterns seem familiar... Neya?
@Neya: It took a hot second, but you'd recognize this speech pattern anywhere. It belongs to a member of the Sisterhood. But the exact voice... Olida? No... Denae.
Utar hesitantly says that the group should advance. Doozey orders his bird and mastiffs to stay back with Sagin. Neya takes the next steps forward. Inside, sitting on the large table on top of which meals are often served in CRAP's HQ, is a tall, wiry half-elf of fiery red locks. Her curls are weaved with generous samples of eucalyptus leaves and bird feathers, one of which is bright red. Her clothing is of simple greenish linen, and much of her skin is bare, revealing upper arm and hip tattoos. Her feet are also bare, apart from some foot-wrappings, and are partially covered in wet mud. A quiver of arrows and a longbow await for her on the corner.
She speaks to the group but clearly directs her words at Neya more specifically. "We had located you, but couldn't quite be sure you were ripe for approach. Last tenday's little center-stage show removed all doubt from our minds." She raises an invitation for the party just held at The Velvet Doublet. Squinting your eyes, you see this one was addressed to the Birdperson you had made peace with recently, after being accosted at an alleyway. "It was graciously polite of you to send an invitation."
Denae lets these words linger in the air for a bit, clearly waiting to judge your group's response.
(@Drache: If you had a different appearance for Denae in mind, let me know. I am happy to edit/add to the description above.)
Doozey, if but thanks in part to the headband he'd secured back into place earlier, puts at least a couple things quickly into place and frowns. But then some if not several epiphany appears to finally dawn on his face, as finally takes note of Danae's focus on Neya. "You prolly don't intend to stay very long, but I'll get the kettle going all the same." Doozey says. Though before actually tottering off to the kitchen, he goes back to the entryway to wave in his small menagerie of beasts (along with their sleeping burden) inside, then on his way to the kitchen shares a brief look with Neya, signaling that all she need do is hollar and he'd back in a jiff.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Neya goes over to the table and leans on it, supporting herself with one hand.
"It's funny, if it was any other dragon, that little show may not have happened at all," Neya begins with a pleased look. "But, because of who Rythnax was, it seems that you essentially confirmed exactly what we were hoping for."
She sighs and her face becomes far more serious, "However, that means there's a storm coming and we summoned it."
Shoulders relax, even if only half way, as Utar begins to question if all half-elves are mysterious and Doozey takes over some of Sagin's simpler duties given the kobold's current condition. When the halfling proposes the introduction of tea to the conversation, he only receives a quick glance from Denae. It is not immediately clear whether that was meant to agree or disagree with the offered hospitality, but Doozey is unlikely to care. Tea will be ready soon.
"And what is it that you were hoping for?" Denae pounces on the bait laid out by Neya. "A visit from an old friend?" She gestures to herself. "I hear I am not the first one to reach out to you, though I fear Olida and I have since found ourselves in opposite sides of our Sisterhood's plans for the future."
The non-hesitant way she mentions the Silent Wood shows that she knows that the other CRAPers know enough of the community, otherwise, she wouldn't have mentioned it openly. Waiting once more for an answer she can analyze further, Denae looks not surprised as several animals walk into the house.
Not yet convinced the visit is completely peaceful, Graxx stays outside to keep watch.
The puzzled look slips from the half-orc's face and leaves behind it one of total bafflement. He looks to Danae, then to Neya, then to Biscuit, then to Berry, and finally to Gravy before accepting that he's no clearer on who it is sat on their kitchen table, decides to just shrug and embrace his inner mother hen.
"I'm sure a fuller explanation will be forthcoming, but before we get to that, I think this situation calls for some tea. Neya, do you want a cup? Also, would you like to introduce your friend, would they like a drink?"
Utar pauses to allow Neya to undertake the necessaries and for their guest to indicate their drink preference. Calling out to the front door where Graxx is keeping his vigil, "Big man! You want a cup of tea?". Pausing again to let Graxx answer, Utar makes a mental note before heading off to help Doozey in the kitchen.
"What's this about tea? Why, I could go for a spot of tea! A nice night cap before bed." Berry, who'd still been a touch wary since entering the domicile and finding a familiar face, spoke up cheerily at the mention of tea, before promptly making his way towards the kitchen/sound of Doozey making himself busy. Biscuit just about thoughtlessly followed, but in remembering the weight on his back, the mastiff instead makes a small detour for Sagin's known bedding to try and gently put the chefbold to bed.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
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EPISODE 12 – DRUMS IN THE MARSH
The party went on for longer than what had been planned, but that is usually a good sign. All invitees had a good time, socializing, eating, drinking, and engaging in general merriment for most of the night. There were also pockets of quiet time to be found, whenever anyone was so inclined. Overall, it was a great success! Next time, should CRAP aim higher and plan a gala, perhaps even the more noble of their allies will feel inclined to attend.
Dornal, Thokk, and CRAP had stayed behind for a bit, intent on cleaning up the place. The staff at the Velvet Double, all very professional and meticulously trained, would not entertain such offer, insisting instead that their patrons enjoyed the rest of their night. Dornal agreed to a point but insisted on at least being present while the place was cleaned out. He also made sure CRAP would see none of it, sending the adventuring party on their way home for the evening.
It is not a long walk between the Velvet Double and the Leadstopper Residence, but CRAP is in no rush to reach their headquarters. They stroll leisurely in the well-lit city streets this evening, enjoying the lingering sense of amusement left by the private celebration.
(OOC: As you stroll toward your home, please go ahead and describe what your characters may be doing and use this time to share any info you’d like with your fellow adventurers. This is also my chance to remind you to share a description of your characters, as some of you may look a little different now due to new gear, scars, or taste in attire. For example, what do those new tattoos look like?)
Inebriation slowly fading, Neya has a slightly unstable walk back home. She is dressed in a slight more upscale version of her usual attire. She rolled up her sleeves to cool off after the hard work of cleaning up, exposing the darker patterns of a tattoo. Overall, it is an array of smooth, irregular shapes that appear to have jagged edges. Near the end of the pattern on the top of her hand is a design that has the party's name on it that can be read from any angle. As the tatoo reachers her fingernails, it ends in what appear to be hooked claws. It glints off, almost silvery, of any stray light the group happens to pass by.
On her hip, is an empty scabbard. It is for a new longsword acquired from Rythnax's horde. The weapon itself, which she has dubbed "Lancet" is currently in the Leadstopper Residence. But, she has such a strong bond with it, she could summon it to her hand at a moment's notice (EK's Weapon Bond feature).
Extended Signature
Thanking Dornal again for his hospitality, Utar reaffirms his commitment to the dwarf. Healing, should he need it, at the House of the Hand, and likely a favour too, Dornal only needs to ask.
Stepping out into cool night air, Utar gazes up at the stars above Phlan and listens to the noises of the town. It feels like home. Casting a look at the others around him, Utar remembers something he once learned: that a found family is just as strong as the one you're born to. Stronger even. He's glad to have found another here.
Clad in the simple robes he'd wear at the temple seemed approrpriate. He has finer robes, but this was a night with friends and a chance to be social. Besides the finery of those robes never sat well with him. Among the lords and ladies of high society it might be expected to look the part, but Utar was a soldier at heart and plain and simple suited him just fine. He had allowed himself a little freshen up of his appearance, his beard trimmed close and the sides of his head freshly shaved with his hair black hair pulled back.
Pulling his simple cleric robes tighter to his body, he feels the rough cloth press against the fresh tattoo that now occupied his right shoulder blade. Having taken the pauldron from his armour as reference, the half-orc now sported the same stylised white hand, added to his collection. Thinking back to their recent trip, Utar felt more on show with the dull purple of his neck scar sat on display, than of his other tattoos or semi-naked body.
At the tattoo parlour:
Sat waiting his turn in the tattooist's chair a few days ago, Utar looked over his own body. Thick, corded muscle covered his arms, back and shoulders, but his pot belly belied his growing fondness for the finer things in life. Three, thick bands circled his forearms, one just behind his wrist, one before his elbow and one at the mid-point between the two, each representing a level of his devotion to Torm and his church. The first upon entry, the second on his entry to the priesthood and the last upon taking up is current mantle as a roving cleric for hire. A rough looking patch of dwarven script encircled his right bicep, a nod to his younger, more impulsive days when he ran with the wrong crowd. Looking down at the writing brings a smirk to his face, still words to live by.
Indicating his preference for the tattoo to the artist, Utar takes his place, settling onto the artist's bench and grits his teeth for the familiar sting of the needle.
Doozey seemed perhaps even more relunctant about not staying behind to help clean up, remembering or realizing after the fact that the use of the location had originally been meant for more clandestine meetings. But if there was anything he'd remembered about one half of his ancestors, then it would be certainly not to bother arguing overly much with a dwarf! So he'd eventually concede with the promise of making it up to Dornal another time.
In thinking back to that moment once the party had departed, a soft smile easily bloomed on the halfling, when months ago he'd struggle to manage even a grin. If he'd thought about it all, drinking too much might've been the culprit. But then again, he'd just as quickly dismiss it, knowing better than to doubt the dwarven blood that still strongly flowed through his blood, as it had in many a Red Foot. But in even drifting close in thought to the matter, Doozey found himself absentmindedly drawn away from keeping an eye on his surroundings to study his own appearance.
The halfling appeared to have remained a far cry from being mistaken for a noble or person of some other affluent lifestyle. His usual patchwork blouse and pants had been replaced by a fresh, white lace-up top and ankle banded pants. And he even still wore boots instead of questionably not bloodstained foot wraps! He's also long since done away with the pig tails in favor of his usual ponytail, though the light brown curly mess of hair had grown long enough to reach the mid of his back. What few curly locks spilled off to the side did little to obscure the swirly band of tattoos curling around from behind his neck before seeming to fade towards the front. If anyone looked close enough, they'd even be able to make out the letters C-A-R-P hidden among the pattern.
His self-inspection comes to an abrupt end around the time his eyes began lingering on the missing pinky of his left hand, courtesy of a Berry swaying far into him. "Ugh, oi! Watch it now." He says while gently pushing the beast aside with a smirk. The mastiff somewhat sloppily apologizes, having managed to sneak a drink or two in between conversations. Berry then returns to talking Biscuit's ears off; who in turn seemed to be half-listening, but still amused by the string of random topics... while possibly carrying an unconscious Sagin, if the kobold had too much to drink this night! Gravy the brown feathered crow than finally alights on Doozey's shoulder, and much like Biscuit, appeared hardly change by their journey. "Ah, there you are. Thanks for keeping an eye out earlier." He says as fishes out some berries from his pocket to feed him. "Can't wait to be back me leather's again. Feel so naked without'em." He idly comments.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
(OOC: Great intros into this new episode, everyone!)
Graxx walks along with the rest of his companions. He'll be leaving soon with his tribesmen in a personal journey, but this night is still one where he can enjoy CRAP's company. He smiles silently as he taps the back of an overly inebriated kobold slumped over Biscuit's back. It has been a pleasant night for all, but some have clearly indulged more than others.
The group's walk back to the Leadstopper Residence is a calm and enjoyable one, that is, until they get near enough to realize that the front door is open and candlelight emanates from within.
(OOC: How would you like to proceed?)
Utar's pleasant amble through Phlan comes to a creaking halt. He stops dead in his tracks, looks at the open door then at the candlelight coming from within Leadstopper Manor.
His hand instinctively goes for Lightbringer but comes up disappointingly empty. His mind darts towards his own room, where his plate armour, shield and weapons lie following a through cleaning. Cursing himself, Utar feels the comforting weight of his holy symbol of Torm around his neck. "Even when I seem alone, you are there." he whispers to himself.
"If someone had laid a trap for us, better to have closed the door and keep us off-guard for as long as possible, right?"
Still, clutching his holy symbol, Utar readies himself.
Doozey stiffens and lets out a terse "Shh, Berry", finally quieting and confusing the Mastiff, before it eventually sunk in for the luquoacious magical beast. Instinctively, he'd then too reach for Apostle; but, as the full weight of his error dawns on him, Doozey switches to fishing out various magical implements that he'd stuffed away various belt pouches and pants pocket.
"I think about the same. But could just as well be an armature thief who'd been in too much of a hurry." He whispers back, earning a soft "boof" in agreement from Biscuit. Doozey then started to draw a little closer to the door, sniffing at the air searching for any familiar or foreign scents, and while taking care to stay out of direct view of it. If unable to discern anything that ease tensions or heighten them one way or another, he'd then whisper to Neya, "Hate to ask, but... were you expect'n guests?"
-Perception: 31.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Neya knew there would be consequences for publicly announcing themselves. She wasn’t entirely surprised an intrusion has happened.
But what piques her curiosity is the nature of this particular incident. It’s too obvious. Either the most rank of amateur is at play or it is part of some more elaborate trap that she is not aware of. Maybe someone got lost and mistook their home as empty.
So many possibilities are running through her head is beginning to annoy her.
“We had not invited anyone before or during the festivities, to my knowledge.” She replied to Doozey.
Nevertheless, she prepares herself for what awaits.
Extended Signature
CRAP exchanges looks and theories about what may be happening within Leadstopper Manor, though no particular suggestion seems to come out ahead in their guessing minds. As Doozey approaches for a closer sniff, he picks up the scent wet soil and eucalyptus.
"I have been waiting for you," a voice calls from inside, unclear if it was aimed at the entire adventuring party or a specific member. "Come in now and let's talk. If I wanted to hurt you, you know I wouldn't have made my presence so obvious."
(OOC: You may recognize the voice. Each of you should roll an insight check. The DC will vary per PC.)
The voice confirming Utar's suspicions that whoever is in there just wants to talk does nothing to settle the half-orc's nerves. Torm's holy symbol stays clutched in his hand but the cleric decides against performing any spells just yet.
"Guess we better head on in, see what they want."
Does Utar recognise the voice? 23
The unexpected guest’s voice addressing them does little to soothe Neya’s concerns. But the call for truce and the itch of familiarity allows for some benefit of the doubt as she proceeds through the door.
Insight: 12
Extended Signature
Doozey wrinkles his nose at the scent, and tries his best to place it in the moment. Yet knowing either which way they'd need to deal with the intruder if they wanted their home back, he'd say a few quick words in halfling back at Biscuit and Berry, bidding them to stay outside and protect Sagin. Similar orders are given to Gravey as well, who takes flight and alights upon a nearby high perch to try and keep overwatch. With that all settled, he'd proceed inside with or without a firm conclusion to the source of the voice, but with nails sharpening and hair frizzing out at the edge from a barely restrained transformation.
-Insight: 10.
(OOC: Me the player: wet soil and eucalyptus... why does that feel familiar?)
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
@Utar: You do not recognize the voice.
@Doozey: Although you are pretty sure you never heard this voice, the inflection, confidence, and speech patterns seem familiar... Neya?
@Neya: It took a hot second, but you'd recognize this speech pattern anywhere. It belongs to a member of the Sisterhood. But the exact voice... Olida? No... Denae.
Utar hesitantly says that the group should advance. Doozey orders his bird and mastiffs to stay back with Sagin. Neya takes the next steps forward. Inside, sitting on the large table on top of which meals are often served in CRAP's HQ, is a tall, wiry half-elf of fiery red locks. Her curls are weaved with generous samples of eucalyptus leaves and bird feathers, one of which is bright red. Her clothing is of simple greenish linen, and much of her skin is bare, revealing upper arm and hip tattoos. Her feet are also bare, apart from some foot-wrappings, and are partially covered in wet mud. A quiver of arrows and a longbow await for her on the corner.
She speaks to the group but clearly directs her words at Neya more specifically. "We had located you, but couldn't quite be sure you were ripe for approach. Last tenday's little center-stage show removed all doubt from our minds." She raises an invitation for the party just held at The Velvet Doublet. Squinting your eyes, you see this one was addressed to the Birdperson you had made peace with recently, after being accosted at an alleyway. "It was graciously polite of you to send an invitation."
Denae lets these words linger in the air for a bit, clearly waiting to judge your group's response.
(@Drache: If you had a different appearance for Denae in mind, let me know. I am happy to edit/add to the description above.)
Utar raises a quizzical eyebrow. This explains nothing; what is it with half-elves and intrigue in this town! First Harper, now this not-Birdperson!
Rather than open his mouth and be branded a fool, Utar keeps his own counsel and waits.
Doozey, if but thanks in part to the headband he'd secured back into place earlier, puts at least a couple things quickly into place and frowns. But then some if not several epiphany appears to finally dawn on his face, as finally takes note of Danae's focus on Neya. "You prolly don't intend to stay very long, but I'll get the kettle going all the same." Doozey says. Though before actually tottering off to the kitchen, he goes back to the entryway to wave in his small menagerie of beasts (along with their sleeping burden) inside, then on his way to the kitchen shares a brief look with Neya, signaling that all she need do is hollar and he'd back in a jiff.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Neya goes over to the table and leans on it, supporting herself with one hand.
"It's funny, if it was any other dragon, that little show may not have happened at all," Neya begins with a pleased look. "But, because of who Rythnax was, it seems that you essentially confirmed exactly what we were hoping for."
She sighs and her face becomes far more serious, "However, that means there's a storm coming and we summoned it."
Extended Signature
DM's Screen:
12
Shoulders relax, even if only half way, as Utar begins to question if all half-elves are mysterious and Doozey takes over some of Sagin's simpler duties given the kobold's current condition. When the halfling proposes the introduction of tea to the conversation, he only receives a quick glance from Denae. It is not immediately clear whether that was meant to agree or disagree with the offered hospitality, but Doozey is unlikely to care. Tea will be ready soon.
"And what is it that you were hoping for?" Denae pounces on the bait laid out by Neya. "A visit from an old friend?" She gestures to herself. "I hear I am not the first one to reach out to you, though I fear Olida and I have since found ourselves in opposite sides of our Sisterhood's plans for the future."
The non-hesitant way she mentions the Silent Wood shows that she knows that the other CRAPers know enough of the community, otherwise, she wouldn't have mentioned it openly. Waiting once more for an answer she can analyze further, Denae looks not surprised as several animals walk into the house.
Not yet convinced the visit is completely peaceful, Graxx stays outside to keep watch.
The puzzled look slips from the half-orc's face and leaves behind it one of total bafflement. He looks to Danae, then to Neya, then to Biscuit, then to Berry, and finally to Gravy before accepting that he's no clearer on who it is sat on their kitchen table, decides to just shrug and embrace his inner mother hen.
"I'm sure a fuller explanation will be forthcoming, but before we get to that, I think this situation calls for some tea. Neya, do you want a cup? Also, would you like to introduce your friend, would they like a drink?"
Utar pauses to allow Neya to undertake the necessaries and for their guest to indicate their drink preference. Calling out to the front door where Graxx is keeping his vigil, "Big man! You want a cup of tea?". Pausing again to let Graxx answer, Utar makes a mental note before heading off to help Doozey in the kitchen.
"What's this about tea? Why, I could go for a spot of tea! A nice night cap before bed." Berry, who'd still been a touch wary since entering the domicile and finding a familiar face, spoke up cheerily at the mention of tea, before promptly making his way towards the kitchen/sound of Doozey making himself busy. Biscuit just about thoughtlessly followed, but in remembering the weight on his back, the mastiff instead makes a small detour for Sagin's known bedding to try and gently put the chefbold to bed.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.