Sturma brings the drinks over to those who are at the table with the mysterious woman.
As she does so she looks to see if anyone else in the tavern is particularly paying attention to the table, or the woman. She also glances quickly to see what the woman has with her, in terms of bags, foci, or weapons.
She says little as she sets the drinks down, before she steps away again to be at a table a little distant but within earshot, as a good servant in a travelling entourage should.
(Merry Christmas all)
The woman is carrying nothing with her but an empty coin pouch and her staff. Nobody else in the tavern has paid any attention to her and is wrapped up in their own conversations.
*Formatting broken, cant go out of bold for some reason?*
(That happened to me sometimes as well. The only workaround, other than fidgeting with the format styles many times, is to write up everything normal and then at the end format the parts that you wish. Or, alternatively, always keep a few empty lines at the end of the post without formatting and if the editor acts out, you have those lines to work with.)
“An easy robbery? Since when became robberies such normality in these parts?” Myrla asks and sighs. “Did that also happen around town?” She shakes her head still troubled by the fact that the whole region seems to be ruled by outlaws. “I can’t shake the feeling that something bothers you, something more than just a simple robbery. We could help you, you know?” Myrla tries to figure out - ideally without drawing attention to the attempt - if the staff she carries matches the description by the hobgoblin, that is if it has a crystal on it.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Ulrich, sitting in companionable silence with Hrothgar, tucks into his dinner with gusto. He observes the others interacting with the strange woman, but his eyes also scan the room for anything or anyone else that stands out.
*Formatting broken, cant go out of bold for some reason?*
(That happened to me sometimes as well. The only workaround, other than fidgeting with the format styles many times, is to write up everything normal and then at the end format the parts that you wish. Or, alternatively, always keep a few empty lines at the end of the post without formatting and if the editor acts out, you have those lines to work with.)
Your words with the women is interrupted as the door slams open and a figure staggers in with a drunken gait. He takes a swig of a bottle held in his hand. The people in the tavern turn and look at the man with contempt. He is wearing red robes with intricate patterns and a high collar, the clothes betray his position of authority.
Sturma crosses the new man’s path as the dishevelled fellow enters the path. She affects to stumble as his makes his way to the bar of the inn, reaching out to make it look like she has fallen into his arms and he has caught her.
She looks up at him. “Thank you, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. I am such a klutz. Who are you?”
Ulrich stops eating and observes this newcomer. He's been around enough to recognise trouble, and this looks like it.
He touches Zorn's handle to reassure himself that it is within reach should it become necessary, and prepares to stand if the situation looks like turning ugly. His brow furrows as he sees Sturma stumble into the man. Gods, is she trying to invite the trouble?
Tandri takes a couple of more quick bites before staring intently at the new commanding figure in the tavern. I hope we are not headed for another fight.
She keeps her hands free in the event she needed to cast a spell.
Sturma crosses the new man’s path as the dishevelled fellow enters the path. She affects to stumble as his makes his way to the bar of the inn, reaching out to make it look like she has fallen into his arms and he has caught her.
She looks up at him. “Thank you, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. I am such a klutz. Who are you?”
The man scowls at her. "Yes you are." before stumbling over to the counter and shouting for an ale. The barwoman looks at the man with disgust, "It appears you've already had a few to many to drink. You wont get any here." The man growls and raises his hand to slap her.
Ulrich stands, instinctively ducking his head slightly to avoid the ceiling beams. He has no problem making himself heard over the buzz of conversation in the room. His is a voice that carries across battlefields.
"I'd stay that hand if I were you, friend. The woman has done nothing to deserve that."
Sturma has stood back. In a pouch at her waist lies a make up brush, and a small piece of fleece. She considers trying to charm the drunk a little more, and then he raises his hand. The choice becomes clear. Subtly, Sturma plucks the fleece from her pouch, and passes it behind her ear, casting Minor Illusion.
Next to the ear of the drunk man, the thunderous sound of a storm rings out, as loud as she can possibly muster. Obvious magic, and perhaps a whisper would've been better. Still, at least no one is looking at her in all the commotion, and she slips the fleece back into her pouch.
Myrla turns around swiftly, when the noisy newcomer entered, always on her guard. “Excuse me,” she says to the lady at her table and continues to observe the development.
Tandri stands ready to say something to stop the man, but she had trouble making herself heard when luckily her companion had no such trouble. She stares at the man to see what he does next, and she has a hand on the hilt of her dagger should he prove dangerous.
Brock slowly but loudly stands up and cracks his knuckles. Each cracking knuckle sounds loud enough to be mistaken as a femur breaking. His eyes are locked on the newcomer but he doesn't say anything yet.
Ulrich stands, instinctively ducking his head slightly to avoid the ceiling beams. He has no problem making himself heard over the buzz of conversation in the room. His is a voice that carries across battlefields.
"I'd stay that hand if I were you, friend. The woman has done nothing to deserve that."
The man turns and scowls at him, "This doesnt concern you." he spits at Ulrich's feet.
Sturma has stood back. In a pouch at her waist lies a make up brush, and a small piece of fleece. She considers trying to charm the drunk a little more, and then he raises his hand. The choice becomes clear. Subtly, Sturma plucks the fleece from her pouch, and passes it behind her ear, casting Minor Illusion.
Next to the ear of the drunk man, the thunderous sound of a storm rings out, as loud as she can possibly muster. Obvious magic, and perhaps a whisper would've been better. Still, at least no one is looking at her in all the commotion, and she slips the fleece back into her pouch.
He stumbles backwards and yelps. All of the patrons cover their ears. Nobody notices you slip the fleece back into your pouch.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"I guess I was wrong about the 'friend' part then," says Ulrich as he grabs the man and tries to restrain him whilst he is reeling from the noise and before he can start any more trouble.
Athletics (presumably contested by the rude gentleman): 15
Rolling again for advantage, just in case anyone else steps in to help: 15
Seeing Ulrich attempt to grapple the man, Brock grins and moves in to assist. "Starting tavern brawls is normally my thing..." The brawler says as tries to reach around the man and get hold of his arms..
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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The woman is carrying nothing with her but an empty coin pouch and her staff. Nobody else in the tavern has paid any attention to her and is wrapped up in their own conversations.
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
(That happened to me sometimes as well. The only workaround, other than fidgeting with the format styles many times, is to write up everything normal and then at the end format the parts that you wish. Or, alternatively, always keep a few empty lines at the end of the post without formatting and if the editor acts out, you have those lines to work with.)
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
“An easy robbery? Since when became robberies such normality in these parts?” Myrla asks and sighs. “Did that also happen around town?” She shakes her head still troubled by the fact that the whole region seems to be ruled by outlaws. “I can’t shake the feeling that something bothers you, something more than just a simple robbery. We could help you, you know?” Myrla tries to figure out - ideally without drawing attention to the attempt - if the staff she carries matches the description by the hobgoblin, that is if it has a crystal on it.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Brock would also take interest in her staff, looking it up and down to see of ot was what the hobgoblin was after.
Tandri enjoys eating her meal and drink as she is confident that her companions will let her know if something is wrong.
Ulrich, sitting in companionable silence with Hrothgar, tucks into his dinner with gusto. He observes the others interacting with the strange woman, but his eyes also scan the room for anything or anyone else that stands out.
Perception: 12
* Ty, I will try that next time it happens.*
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
Your words with the women is interrupted as the door slams open and a figure staggers in with a drunken gait. He takes a swig of a bottle held in his hand. The people in the tavern turn and look at the man with contempt. He is wearing red robes with intricate patterns and a high collar, the clothes betray his position of authority.
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
Sturma crosses the new man’s path as the dishevelled fellow enters the path. She affects to stumble as his makes his way to the bar of the inn, reaching out to make it look like she has fallen into his arms and he has caught her.
She looks up at him. “Thank you, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. I am such a klutz. Who are you?”
Ulrich stops eating and observes this newcomer. He's been around enough to recognise trouble, and this looks like it.
He touches Zorn's handle to reassure himself that it is within reach should it become necessary, and prepares to stand if the situation looks like turning ugly. His brow furrows as he sees Sturma stumble into the man. Gods, is she trying to invite the trouble?
Tandri takes a couple of more quick bites before staring intently at the new commanding figure in the tavern. I hope we are not headed for another fight.
She keeps her hands free in the event she needed to cast a spell.
The man scowls at her. "Yes you are." before stumbling over to the counter and shouting for an ale. The barwoman looks at the man with disgust, "It appears you've already had a few to many to drink. You wont get any here." The man growls and raises his hand to slap her.
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
Ulrich stands, instinctively ducking his head slightly to avoid the ceiling beams. He has no problem making himself heard over the buzz of conversation in the room. His is a voice that carries across battlefields.
"I'd stay that hand if I were you, friend. The woman has done nothing to deserve that."
Sturma has stood back. In a pouch at her waist lies a make up brush, and a small piece of fleece. She considers trying to charm the drunk a little more, and then he raises his hand. The choice becomes clear. Subtly, Sturma plucks the fleece from her pouch, and passes it behind her ear, casting Minor Illusion.
Next to the ear of the drunk man, the thunderous sound of a storm rings out, as loud as she can possibly muster. Obvious magic, and perhaps a whisper would've been better. Still, at least no one is looking at her in all the commotion, and she slips the fleece back into her pouch.
Myrla turns around swiftly, when the noisy newcomer entered, always on her guard. “Excuse me,” she says to the lady at her table and continues to observe the development.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Tandri stands ready to say something to stop the man, but she had trouble making herself heard when luckily her companion had no such trouble. She stares at the man to see what he does next, and she has a hand on the hilt of her dagger should he prove dangerous.
Brock slowly but loudly stands up and cracks his knuckles. Each cracking knuckle sounds loud enough to be mistaken as a femur breaking. His eyes are locked on the newcomer but he doesn't say anything yet.
The man turns and scowls at him, "This doesnt concern you." he spits at Ulrich's feet.
He stumbles backwards and yelps. All of the patrons cover their ears. Nobody notices you slip the fleece back into your pouch.
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
"I guess I was wrong about the 'friend' part then," says Ulrich as he grabs the man and tries to restrain him whilst he is reeling from the noise and before he can start any more trouble.
Athletics (presumably contested by the rude gentleman): 15
Rolling again for advantage, just in case anyone else steps in to help: 15
Seeing Ulrich attempt to grapple the man, Brock grins and moves in to assist. "Starting tavern brawls is normally my thing..." The brawler says as tries to reach around the man and get hold of his arms..